by Vivian Wood
But could she take the risk? The next step might very well be her last, might sweep her away, drag her into the spirit realm forever.
Wracked with violent shivers, Echo concentrated on the mating bond once more. She sent out a silent plea, hoping desperately for a response.
She felt a soft answer at the other end, weaker than before, but it was enough to make her take another step forward.
The water swelled up to Echo’s mouth, making her heartbeat race even as her body begged her to let go, stop fighting the inevitable. Echo winced and reached out.
Her fingertips brushed cold, solid flesh.
Echo’s eyes snapped open, though it was far too dark to see anything.
Rhys, she thought. I know you’re there.
After a second, there was another tug at their bond. Rhys was calling to her, searching for her.
Echo let herself drift just a little closer, let the water rise until it threatened to cover her nose. She felt around and found Rhys’s thick arm, thrilling at the small victory.
Of course, she’d been so focused on reaching him that she hadn’t considered how she would manage to get him back. She couldn’t do it alone, he would have to help.
Move, she thought. Please, please move.
She yanked at Rhys’s arm, and to her shock he came along with her, moving easily. The connection, she thought. As long as we are touching, he can still come back.
Echo reached down and linked her fingers through his, then turned and began to push back through the icy stream. It was much harder to move out of the stream, the water growing heavier by the moment. Echo’s muscles strained and jumped, her whole body shaking with the effort of it as she led Rhys on and on.
It felt like the journey hadn’t even begun. It felt as if Echo and Rhys were two tiny specks of dust amongst the cosmos, impossibly small and weak against the forces of the universe. She had been in the river forever. Had she ever known anything else?
Only the feeling of Rhys’s fingers in her own kept her going. She couldn’t remember why she was going, or where, exactly, but she remembered that she was not alone.
Echo’s lungs stung as they emerged from the water, somehow growing colder as they left the stream. When the water was at her shins once more, she glanced back. When she saw Rhys’s face gone white as a sheet, lips turned blue, she started to cry in earnest, the heat of her tears burning her cheeks.
Only the dazzling emerald hue of his eyes gave any indication that he was still alive.
“S’okay,” Echo mumbled, leading him onward. “S’okay.”
And then suddenly, impossibly, they were at the Veil. Echo reached out with her free hand, finding the velvet curtain and parting it. She pulled Rhys close and shoved him through first, then launched herself through.
* * *
Echo’s eyes snapped open. She was in the clearing, slumped over Rhys’s body. She was shivering, shaking so hard that she could barely move.
She looked up to find Aeric and Gabriel standing over her and Rhys.
“Get… blankets,” Echo wheezed. “Hot water…”
Aeric vanished, and Gabriel crouched down to take Rhys’s pulse. He snatched his hand back with a curse.
“He’s freezing!”
“Shift,” Echo groaned. “Keep… warm…”
Looking down at Rhys, she saw that his eyes had opened, his green gaze steady on her face. Nothing had ever seemed so beautiful to Echo in her entire life.
Her eyes drifted closed, and the world went dark.
16
Chapter Sixteen
Echo
“How many boxes can one person possibly have?” Gabriel groaned as he lugged an armful of cardboard cartons up the Manor’s front steps.
“Excuse me for having possessions,” Echo retorted, rolling her eyes. She toted a plastic milk crate full of DVDs and a duffel bag of clothing, following Gabriel inside and up the stairs to Rhys’s rooms.
They passed Aeric on the way, lumbering down the steps to get another load of stuff from the moving van.
“How much more is there, though, really?” Gabriel asked.
“I think Aeric is about to get the last two boxes,” Echo informed him.
She stepped into the living area and set her burden down, admiring the massive pyramid of boxes. She’d given away a ton of her stuff when she’d ended the lease at her apartment, her furniture included, but she still owned a lot of stuff.
She picked up a huge framed photograph, a moving gift from Tee-Elle. Her mother was on the left, arms wrapped around a man who Tee-Elle had pronounced to be Echo’s father. Raymond Caballero, every bit as tall and handsome as Echo could have ever imagined him.
Where Tee-Elle had gotten the photo, Echo didn’t know, but she was very glad to have it.
“That’s going to look great on the wall,” Rhys announced, arriving with Aeric and setting down the last box of Echo’s stuff.
“You think?” Echo asked, turning to give Rhys a measuring glance.
He’d only just been cleared for active duty by the Guardians’ private doctor, and Echo was still concerned about him. His brush with death had sapped all his strength and energy for over a week, and it had taken him days to regain any meaningful consciousness.
“I do think,” Rhys said, coming over and dropping a kiss on her neck, the brush of his beard making her shiver.
“Do you two think you could wait until we get out of here before you start all that?” Gabriel sighed, crossing his arms.
Echo smirked and flapped a hand at Gabriel and Aeric.
“Go, then. I think we’re done here,” she said.
“I thought we were all going to sit down and talk about finding the Second Light,” Gabriel said. “Pere Mal has probably been hunting for her for two weeks already. We are falling behind.”
“I find myself suddenly tired,” Rhys said. Echo could tell that he was suppressing a grin. “Got to stay rested. Doctor’s orders.”
Gabriel threw his arms up in the air and looked to Aeric for help, but Aeric merely shrugged.
“Tomorrow,” Aeric said.
Gabriel pointed a finger at Echo and Rhys.
“Tomorrow,” he insisted.
“Of course,” Echo said with a grin.
Shaking their heads, Gabriel and Aeric left the room. Echo turned to find Rhys right behind her. He reached out and tugged her up against his body, pressing a heated kiss to her lips. It took her several breathless seconds to pull back and give him a hard look.
“Are you sure you don’t need to rest?” she asked.
Rhys didn’t answer. He picked up her left hand and turned it over, admiring the sparkling diamond ring on her finger for a moment before raising it to his lips for a kiss.
“I’m sure,” he said, grazing the pulse at her wrist with his teeth.
“You just seem quiet,” Echo said, watching him closely.
“I’m just hoping that you’re as glad to be here as I am to have you,” Rhys said.
Their gazes caught and held, and Echo pushed up on her tiptoes.
“Kiss me and find out,” she said, quirking a brow.
Rhys dropped a single kiss to her lips before he picked her up and slung her over his shoulder, landing a big hand on her ass with a resounding slap.
“Anything for the future Lady Macaulay,” Rhys said.
Echo giggled, but she didn’t dare protest. She was in her wonderful new home, making herself useful in her new position working for the Guardians, and now the most handsome man in existence was about to take her to bed.
“You’re not upset that we’re not meeting with the men today, then?” Rhys said, and Echo could hear the amusement in his voice.
“Tomorrow,” Echo sighed. “Everything else can wait until tomorrow.”
And wait it would.
Hear No Evil
The Gates Of Guinee
An Entry From Withiel’s Encyclopedia Of Magics, Volume IV
The Gates of Guinee
T
he Gates of Guinee are the entrance to the spiritual way station between this world and the next. Forever shrouded in mystery, the only common knowledge of the Gates is that they lie in New Orleans, Louisiana, likely in some of the city’s hauntingly beautiful cemeteries. The Gates of Guinee are said to be presided over by Vodou Loa Baron Samedi, whose map for accessing the Gates is forever immortalized in an age-old nursery rhyme:
Seven nights
Seven moons
Seven gates
Seven tombs
It is said that, for the truly devoted follower, the key to traveling between the realm of flesh and spirit is only a matter of finding the right order and timing.
1
Cassandra Chase stood in front of the full-sized mirror in her lavish walk-in closet, turning this way and that as she admired the stunning Rosie Assoulin skirt that had just arrived for her. The skirt was the most vivid shade of sapphire imaginable, sitting high on Cassie’s waist and falling in a smooth curtain to her feet. She’d paired it with a sleek, sleeveless white satin blouse, then pulled back her flame-colored hair, finishing the look with a pair of diamond ear bobs. A touch of blush on her high cheekbones brought out the finely wrought lines of her heart-shaped face, a little mascara emphasized her thick lashes, and a reddish orange lip stain accentuated her dramatic, full lips.
Cassie turned to the side once more, checking out her figure. She was tall and curvy, her bust and hips wider than they ought to be. Still, Cassie loved nothing more than truly beautiful designer clothes, so she bought the clothes she loved on sight and altered them to fit her sinful frame.
Everyone needed a hobby; women who rarely left the confines of their personal quarters, doubly so.
Satisfied with her primping, Cassie whirled and returned to the living area of her suite. The room held a beautiful gilded Anthropologie dining room set, a stunning West Elm-furnished library and lounge area, and a custom sewing and fabric storage area. Coupled with Cassie’s decadent bedroom and bathroom and the massive walk-in closet, these rooms were her entire world.
Her beautiful, carefully built, and suffocating gilded cage.
Cassie picked up a tablet computer and put on a new album she liked, the singer a fellow redhead named Florence Welch. She spent a few minutes humming along to the music and tidying up her sewing area. Living in such a confined space, Cassie was unable to abide any kind of mess. There was simply no way to escape anything in her rooms, so she kept them as pristine as possible.
It helped that her captors allowed her to buy anything she wished. If Cassie saw it online and thought it might amuse her, she simply had to ask. As long as the item would not help her escape the sprawling mansion in which she lived, held captive with a dozen or more other useful witches, she could have her heart’s desire.
Cassie had lived in the Birdcage, as mansion’s residents called it, for four years now. After the first year, she’d completely abandoned all attempts to escape. Pere Mal might keep her close at hand, and he might demand the use of her powers once a week or so, but otherwise Cassie had gained a kind of freedom. Sometimes Pere Mal even took her out of the Birdcage, brought her to meet important people at fancy Kith clubs in the French Quarter.
Cassie jumped at the sound of a soft knock coming from her bedroom. Biting her lip, she rushed into her bedroom, pulling her heavy wardrobe away from the wall. Behind the wardrobe was a smooth-edged hole in the wall, about three square feet in size.
Crouching in the hole, a wild look in her arresting navy blue eyes, was Alice. Cassie’s only friend and confidante, and a fellow Birdcage captive. Sparrows, they called themselves.
“You have to be quieter,” Cassie admonished Alice.
Alice arched a dark brow and climbed out of the tunnel they’d carved between their bedrooms, patting the two dark herringbone braids that bound her long, wavy raven-colored hair. Alice wore a simple but stunning black dress with white pearl buttons up the front and a white collar, no doubt every penny as expensive as Cassie’s own outfit. Probably a Rag and Bone dress, if Cassie had her designers right.
“We’re not going to get caught,” Alice said with a shrug.
Cassie pursed her lips, eyeing Alice for a moment. At twenty six, Cassie was only two years older than Alice, but Alice often had the maddening, unconcerned quality of a much younger girl. Cassie suspected that Alice’s youthful moments were the product of some touch of insanity, a place where Alice retreated when the world around her was threatening or overbearing.
Or perhaps it was all for show, and Alice kept her true self from Cassie as much as anyone else. In the three months since Alice had first dug a small hole between their rooms and started slipping Cassie notes, Cassie had yet to feel that she totally understood the other woman.
“You can’t know that, Alice,” Cassie said, trying to keep the impatience from her tone.
“Actually, I can,” Alice said, quirking her head to the side. ‘That’s what I came over here to tell you. I’ve finally found a way to send up a distress signal. Like shooting a flare gun, but with psychic energy.”
Alice raised her hand and mimicked the motion of shooting a gun overhead, and Cassie grew curious.
“I thought you couldn’t remove the wards on the Birdcage,” Cassie said.
“I can do anything I set my mind to, Cassandra.” Alice always called everyone by their full name. “You of all people should know that by now.”
She was perfectly right, of course. Alice had dug most of the tunnel between their rooms in a single night, using only a metal spoon she’d purloined off one of the meal trays sent up from the kitchen. Alice was both determined and fearless, a striking and sometimes frightening combination.
“True enough. You think you can really get us rescued?” Cassie asked.
“I’m sure enough that I’m telling you to pack up your favorite things. If I send up a flare, Pere Mal will be forced to clear out the Birdcage, move us all somewhere else. Once we get outside, we’ll stash our bags and then I’ll create a diversion. From there…” Alice raised her brows. “Clean getaway.”
Cassie thought it over for a second.
“Where would we go?” she asked, ashamed of herself. The idea of so much freedom all at once scared her. Other than Alice, Cassie had no one, unless you counted the junkie parents she’d run away from at sixteen. Her shitty home life had been the first of several factors and poor bits of luck, all of which had snowballed until Cassie had ended up in the Birdcage.
At least you’re not at one of the blood brothels in the Gray Market, she always reminded herself. Without your powers, that’s exactly where you would be right now.
“Anywhere,” Alice said, nibbling on her lower lip thoughtfully. “We could do anything we want.”
“And when are you sending up this signal?” Cassie asked.
“Oh…” Alice gave Cassie a wide-eyed glance. “Ten minutes ago, give or take.”
“Alice!” Cassie said, grabbing her petite friend by the shoulders and propelling her back toward the wall. “Get back to your room. If they see the tunnel, they’ll know you were the one who sent up the flare.”
Alice gave a sigh.
“Cassandra, you sweet thing. They probably already know. That’s why we have to escape.”
Shooting her friend a glare, Cassie pushed her into the tunnel.
“I’ll meet you on the side of the house, near that mermaid fountain,” Cassie whispered. “When they come to tell you to pack up, try not to let on that you expected them, okay?”
Alice retreated without another word, and Cassie pushed the wardrobe back against the wall with a groan. For a few long seconds she leaned against the wardrobe, feeling paralyzed, staring at her lovingly-selected bedroom furniture. Her gilded cage it might be, but it was also lined with soft, pretty things that Cassie loved.
Pushing herself upright, Cassie ran to her walk-in closet and began pulling down the things she couldn’t bear to leave behind. The pile towered in a few short minutes, and she was f
orced to pare it down again and again.
By the time one of the guards thumped on Cassie’s door, she’d made her selections.
“Come in!” she called, walking out into the living area.
“You’re taking a trip,” a grumpy, dark-suited guard told her, thrusting a pair of rolling suitcases into the room. “Be ready in ten minutes.”
Cassie only nodded, her heart thundering in her chest. The guard slammed the door shut behind him, the sound made Cassie shiver. She looked around the room for a moment, wishing she had some personal mementos to take along with her. Her fingers instinctively sought her necklace, a silver locket with a chain long enough to tuck the pendant under anything she wore. It was the only thing she’d kept from her family, the last gift from the beloved grandmother who passed away when Cassie was twelve.
Dragging her suitcases to the closet, she spent a few minutes packing. After packing her clothes, Cassie dug into the very bottom shelf of her closet and produced several thick stacks of cash, carefully cultivated over several years by pretending to exchange items she’d requested, then selling them instead.
After she split the stacks up and rolled them in t-shirts, she placed some money in each of her bags lest she lose one. Then she rolled the suitcases back to the front door and waited. Tugging on a long pair of lightweight, arm-length Burburry kid leather gloves, Cassie blew out a long breath and tried to calm her nerves. Her mind was in chaos, her hands shaking, her tongue dry as sand.
The idea of escaping the Birdcage was so thrilling, and yet…
The door swung open again before Cassie had time to complete her thought.
“Let’s go,” said the guard, waving her out the door.
Taking a deep breath and straightening her spine, Cassie grabbed her suitcases and walked out her bedroom door without so much as a backward glance, not wanting to give away her trepidation.