by E. M. Knight
In seconds the cave is restored to what it had been before. And as the light returns, I see Phillip and Raul, Geordam and the guards, in their spots in front of me, where they were before all this began and before I was thrown back by the beast.
In their midst stands the Narwhark.
Time is still paused. None of the others have noticed the demon yet. The sensation starts to flow back to my legs, body, and arms.
But then the staggering reality comes crashing into me: Another creature was summoned. The Narwhark defended us against it.
And now, it’s standing right there, staring at me.
I swallow as I look into those unblinking, reflective eyes.
And then I notice another figure in the side of my vision.
Morgan, a nimbus of blue light surrounding her form, is standing there.
She smiles at me, full of deviant knowledge, and beckons the Narwhark with one hand.
“Come.” She mouths the word.
Like an obedient puppy, the demon runs to her. It jumps up, and, despite its increased size, lands on her shoulder.
Morgan reaches up and scratches it beneath the chin. The hideous thing purrs. It purrs, like a freaking cat!
Maybe hitting the wall concussed me, and now I’m seeing things.
The Queen makes a circular motion with her hand. A black mist appears.
“Go,” she whispers to the Narwhark. It jumps inside and disappears.
The moment it’s gone, time snaps back to its regular flow. Except… except it hitches, at the start, as if in protest of being manipulated one-too-many times.
Phillip or Raul’s last shout comes to me. When they realize I’m not there, they all spin back—and see the same woman who astonished me.
“Well,” Morgan says. Her eyes shine with triumphant glory. “Isn’t this a happy reunion?”
Chapter Forty-One
CARTER
THE PATHS
I reach the edge of the miniature city and look around.
It seems different from before. Something is just so slightly off, but I can’t put my finger on what. The tilt of the buildings, maybe? Something else?
For all my bravado, this place is starting to unnerve me. The sooner I get out, the better. I have to reunite with my followers, my fellow dissenters, outside The Haven.
To do that, I have to find my way back. I’m not willing to use the three-thousand, three-hundred, and thirty-three steps yet. That would land me right back in the stronghold. And I aim to get away.
Maybe the smartest thing to do is to retrace my steps. Find the center of the city, walk back the way Deanna and I came from, and try finding a route up from there.
I start walking, not exactly briskly, but not at a leisurely pace, either. A feeling of oppression lies heavy on my shoulders, like a wet fur coat. The sooner I’m rid of it, the better it’ll be.
But when I reach the spot where I killed Deanna… her body isn’t there.
My gut clenches in alarm. Dead vampires decompose at an accelerated rate, yes. And they leave no trace behind. That is what makes it so easy—relatively speaking—for the Crusaders to attack the wanderers without a coven.
But even the most rapid decomposition should take days. Days! At least.
So Deanna’s body should still be here.
And yet it’s not. I spin around. This is the place I ripped out her heart. I’m certain. This is where her blood was spilled.
Yet not a trace of it remains.
My chest starts to constrict. I feel a sort of paranoia coming on.
The body’s gone. I can’t find my way out. The city is shifting.
What the hell do I do next?
Chapter Forty-Two
JAMES
THE ROCKIES
“It’s gone!” Victoria exclaims.
“What? What the hell do you mean, it’s gone?”
“Look, see for yourself. The beacon—it isn’t there anymore!”
She shoves the map out to me.
I look over its features. My eyebrows go up.
“You’re right,” I say.
“See?” she gloats.
I scowl.
We’re making our way along back country roads used by loggers a century, a century-and-a-half ago. I’ve used the map to fly us as close as I dared to Smithson’s location. Then I set the jet down, for us to continue on foot.
All three of the women with me know where we’re headed. I saw no reason to hide it from them. Liana and April are bound to me by virtue of belonging to my coven. Victoria is bound to me by her word.
Surprisingly, it is Victoria I trust the most.
“Do you think he discovered it?” April asks. “Found out that his sword was treasonous?”
“It could be possible,” I cede. I look up at the mountains that thrust into the sky. “We’re going to have one hell of a time finding him without it.”
“He wouldn’t have found it,” Victoria says.
We all look at her.
“I know him. I’ve… been with him.” By her intonation it’s not an experience she wants to repeat. “He’s obviously guarded, paranoid, even, but when he lets somebody inside—all of that caution is abandoned. If Smithson trusts you, that trust is absolute. It’s a glaring flaw for such an arrogant man.”
“And you’re saying he trusted you?” I ask.
Victoria scoffs. “No. Never. But he does trust that sword. If he’s had it with him for all this time without noticing anything different…?” She shrugs. “I doubt he would have looked into it now.”
“Then what?” I ask.
“Maybe the spell cast on the tracker faded. Magic isn’t infinite, you know.”
I grunt. “Just our luck. We were only a few miles off.”
“We’ll find him,” Victoria says. “You’re right, he is close by. Whatever he’s doing here,” she looks about at the wilderness, “I suspect he isn’t alone. He has others with him. And who better to track prey...” her claws come out, “…than two vengeful vampires?”
“Three,” April says, stepping up to us. “I want revenge on Smithson, too. Least of all,” her eyes flicker to me, “for what he did to James. I’d be dead if James hadn’t saved me.”
“Four,” Liana corrects. She’s taken up to the whole idea of being a vampire frighteningly fast. I guess there was not much rooting her at the college. “Whatever you do, I’m a part of it.”
“Well, there’s loyalty for you,” I say under my breath. I give my three girls a spectacular grin. “All right. All I know is we were headed in the right direction. We keep going straight—and let our instincts guide us. We’ll find him. I want Smithson dead before the next sunrise.”
Each of the women’s eyes shine with greed and anticipation.
Chapter Forty-Three
SMITHSON
THE EAST WING OF THE ORDER’S SECRET FACILITY
“Wait.” I stop just before entering the portal. “Sylvia. Seal the cube.”
She falters. “What?”
“Seal the cube,” I repeat. The portal shifts and shines before me. “When we return with the witch, I don’t want her getting out.”
“But that would lock us in,” she says. “And it can only be done from the outside.”
“Yes,” I say softly. “I know.”
“You’re leaving me behind!” she exclaims, affronted.
“I am. You are too valuable to risk. We need someone capable to remain here. In case things go bad.”
I don’t plan on succumbing to the Black Sorceress, but against someone so powerful, contingencies must be made.
“No.” She crosses her arms and glares at me. “I did not spend all these years watching her, studying her, only to be left behind now, when she finally rises!”
“Don’t you understand the danger in it for you?” I snarl. “You think those brand marks on your skin will protect you? No. You are the most vulnerable of any of us.” I wave a hand over the line of witches. “They can do magic, they can at lea
st sense what she does. And what of you? A human, with no powers—”
She takes an imperious step forward, “You know that’s not true,” she says softly.
“It’s true enough,” I tell her. “We’re wasting time. When I give an order, Sylvia, I expect it to be obeyed.”
“Really?” Her eyes flare. “That is what you’re resorting to? The dictator card.”
I smile at her levelly. “It is.”
She makes a disgusted sound and spins away. She stalks to the computer on the outside, her heels striking the floor hard with each angry step.
She hits the button that closes the opening. On a whim, I blow her a kiss.
She pretends not to see it.
The witches and I are locked inside. I address them.
“Individually, I know she is stronger than you. But together, linked as a coterie, I believe you have enough power to withstand her attacks. You may still not equal her in strength, even linked, but you have one advantage the Black Sorceress does not. You have a vampire on your side.”
I face the portal once more. “Wherever this takes us,” I say, “we need to be prepared. The goal is to subdue her and bring her back. If she attacks, you may defend. But do nothing to harm her on your own! We need her alive. As soon as we step over the line, her life becomes the highest priority. Any of you might die. Some of you undoubtedly will. She is angry, and she will lash out. But if any harm befalls her, well, I will personally ensure that the witch responsible does not make it back alive. Understand?”
My witches, meek and compliant, as always, give little sound of agreement.
“Good,” I say, though I’d feel a hell of a lot better if even a few of them possessed a semblance of a backbone.
Sylvia was the only one in the East Wing who did.
“You know how important she is. You know who she is. So you’d better get ready for the fight of your life.” I heft my sword. “Let’s go.”
And, with a two-step running start, I jump right into the orbiting portal.
I hit the surface and break through. For a second, the whole world goes dark. A pulsating sort of energy hums through the air. Then there’s a tension, as if I’d struck an elastic barrier of a trampoline… and I’m thrown back out.
I go skidding across the floor, knocking over two of my witches. My back hits the opaque glass barrier. For a moment, I’m too dazed to react, not from pain but from confusion. The portal should have taken me straight into the Paths…
Then the greatest sense of alarm hits.
Obsidian prevents magic from penetrating its barrier.
There’s no way the Black Sorceress could have created a portal to the other realm.
And when we opened the door… we gave her a way out.
I spring to my feet. “It’s an illusion!” I exclaim. “We’ve been tricked. She’s still here. The portal is false!”
My witches stare at me as if both deaf and mute.
“Why didn’t you tell me!” I rage at them. “The Black Sorceress is still here, she’s still—oh God.”
With the cube having been opened, she obviously slipped outside. And now, she’s there, alone with Sylvia. Sylvia, who is unprotected. Sylvia, the only one of the group unable to do magic. Sylvia, who is now isolated from us…!
“You knew!” I round on the witches. “You knew the portal was false, you knew, and you didn’t tell me! Damn you, answer me, why didn’t you tell me?”
They open their mouths… and their voices come together in a single chorus:
“You are doomed, Smithson. For holding me here against my will, I condemn you. For wanting me for your petty plots, I damn you. And for using my own kind against me… I will kill you.
The Black Sorceress has possessed them.
Before I know what’s happening Roxanne flings her arm out and shoots a flame of pure fire at me. I leap out of the way. A black scorch mark singes the floor.
“You have nowhere to go, nowhere to run.” Coming from the lips of all these different women, the words have an eerie, reverberating synchronicity. “You wanted to use me, and now you’ll die. You will pay for your folly!”
Three witches aim a spiral of fire at me. I duck and roll, only barely avoiding the attack. But I have nowhere to go—no choice but to fight back.
The possessed witches all start to cackle as one. “Jump, jump, little dancer!” they scream. “You will never get away!”
“No,” I say,” but I won’t let you kill me, either.”
And with a whispered, “I’m sorry,” I throw myself at the first witch and sink my deadly fangs into her neck.
Chapter Forty-Four
CARTER
THE PATHS
This place is haunting me. It’s haunting me, and making me lose my mind.
I’ve been wandering for hours. Hours and hours and hours, without making any tangible progress. Each time I look over my shoulder, no matter how far I think I’ve come, the city is right there, just beyond the curve of the ground.
I cannot get away.
My willpower is crumbling. I feel like Orpheus. Except I’ve failed the trial not once, but over and over and over again.
The walls around seem to move. The very structure of this place seems to shift. Shifting subtly, of course… but undeniably.
The fall—the fall is what did it. The fall is what took me to a part of the Paths which I have never read about.
This is a different place entirely. If the witches who designed the crystal tunnels knew about it they left no written evidence.
I run one way for twenty miles. I stop, turn around, and know ahead of time what I’m going to see.
And see it I do. The perimeter of that forsaken, miniature model city is haunting me, following me wherever I go.
Is this the price I pay for my pride?
I’m growing desperate, now. I have one final ace up my sleeve. The three thousand, three hundred, thirty-three steps.
What choice do I have? Vampire or not, I will go crazy if I remain here.
At this point I would rather take my chances reappearing inside the stronghold. At least, that way, I will be on familiar ground… and I’ll have my wits about me again.
It’ll put me in an infinitely better position than I’m in right now.
Is resorting to that a sign of weakness, of failing strength?
Or is it conscious acknowledgment of a situation that has become too dire? Perhaps it is, in fact, a sort of strength, being able to admit to yourself when you’ve bitten off more than you can chew.
I’d like to think of it as the latter.
And so, seeing no other option, I turn one way… and take the first step of three thousand, three hundred, and thirty-three.
Chapter Forty-Five
SMITHSON
THE VORCELLIAN ORDER
The bloodied corpses of my witches lie strewn around me, littering the ground.
It’s a grisly sight. I didn’t come out of it unharmed.
Thankfully, the healing process my vampiric blood commands has already begun its work. The dark machine must be refueled, must be repaired, to continue on its ceaseless journey through the world.
I turn my attention to the exterior of the cube.
Obsidian might prevent magic from flowing through it, and the thick, bullet-proof glass will stop even the strongest mortals from breaking it down… but it is nothing against the strength of a vampire.
Especially, one as caught up in his bloodlust as I.
Quickly, I scan the surface for the weakest point. I pick out the joint where the sliding doors meet.
I take aim and ram into it with my shoulder. The cube shakes, but the glass doesn’t give. I do it again, and again, and again.
Small cracks begin to spider web out from my point of contact.
In the back of my mind, worry rages about Sylvia. Only a few minutes have passed—but that is a lifetime for her to be out there with the dark witch. My only hope is that the sorceress’s attention was suffici
ently diverted while she controlled my witches that she could not strike at Sylvia at the same time.
But I make up my mind on one thing. No matter what I discover on the outside, I will not give Sylvia my vampiric blood. Not even if it is the only thing that will stop her death. Because the moment I bleed, the Black Sorceress will have access to it... and who knows the type of horrid blood magic she can channel with the help of the vampiric essence.
Over and over I ram into the glass. The cracks continue to spread. I feel the clock ticking at the back of my mind. I know, dammit, that I am running out of time.
How did the Black Sorceress get past me? The failure is staggering. I should have sensed her moving.
But she must have cloaked herself, similarly to what I’d had my witches do to me. What’s more, she must have used some inverted weaves to make the light go around her, rendering herself invisible…
And I’d been fool enough to be taken in by the illusion of the portal! I should have known better—I should have realized earlier that such a thing wouldn’t have been possible.
But, alas, that is what I get for acting in haste. My greatest flaw, my biggest weakness, is that impassivity. It’s what got me in trouble with Morgan, when I attacked her irritating, upstart youngest son. It’s what Beatrice used to be able to temper in me, so many years ago…
One final shot and I break through. The glass shatters and crumbles into a thousand tiny pieces. They rain down onto the floor, and I stagger through them.
I see something I could never expect.
Sylvia is suspended, spread-eagle, in the air. Her body spins slowly. Invisible bonds render every single one of her muscles rigid. Her eyes are wide, and her mouth is open as far as it will go. She doesn’t scream or make any sound. I suspect she has a gag of air stuffed in her mouth.
And behind her, shielded beyond the computer desk, is the decrepit, wicked, wretched, hideous Black Sorceress.