Heart of the Assassins (An Academy of Assassins Novel Book 2)

by Stacey Brutger

  Morgan snorted, the harsh memories bubbling to the surface. “I was chained to an altar, bleeding to death, being sacrificed to build a bridge between realms. I broke free, ripped open a portal to the void, and sucked the bad guys out of the room, then used the last of my blood to save the life of…” She cleared her throat, shoving away the surge of unwanted emotions. “And saved those that I could.”

  His eyebrows rose, rubbing a hand along his jaw as he studied her. He glanced around the room, then grabbed an ancient letter opener that had seen better days off a nearby desk. “Hold out your hand.”

  She eyed the dull blade suspiciously, not moving.

  Ward shrugged. “Do you want to help him or not?”

  Heaving a sigh of pure frustration, she thrust out her hand.

  “Morgan, don’t.” Atlas grabbed for her arm, but Ward was faster, slashing the knife across her palm.

  Blood welled up from the gash, and she instinctively curled her fingers into a fist over the wound. Ward grabbed her wrist from Atlas, dragging her arm until it was over Atlas’s back, then squeezed her fist. She sucked in a harsh breath, resisting the urged to kick back at him, watching drops of her blood speckle Atlas’s back.

  “Now, concentrate on what you want done.” Ward released her and wiped the blade off on his pant leg, then tossed it back onto the desk.

  Morgan nodded, lifted her hands, feeling a bit foolish, but did as directed.

  Heal.

  She waited, not daring to breathe as she stared at his exposed back, not sure what she was expecting to happen.

  But nothing, wasn’t it.

  A pang of disappointment shot through her, and she felt gutted by her failure. She hadn’t realized how much finally being able to use her magic meant to her.

  “Again.” Ward’s voice was hard. “Focus.”

  Morgan barely bit back a growl of frustration. Her magic continued to build under her skin until the pressure made her body feel too small.

  “Think of your gift as an extension of yourself. It doesn’t have a mind of its own. It’s not good or evil. It’s a tool. One you control like any weapon. You can use it to either destroy or heal.”

  “You’re not telling me anything I don’t know.” She threw up her hands in frustration. “How do I release the magic without having it rip me to shreds in the process?”

  “Magic needs to have a focus for it to manifest. Watch.” Ward waved a hand, and the book on the desk flipped open, pages flapping until it settled on an old picture of a witch casting a spell.

  “Focus.” Morgan narrowed her eyes on the picture as the magic churned under her skin, the markings on her skin growing heavier.

  The runes!

  They focused magic when a witch wasn’t strong enough.

  She blew out a heavy breath, then closed her eyes, lifting her hand until her fingertips hovered over his back.

  Heal.

  To her surprise, magic snapped and crackled down her arms, her fingers moving into a complicated design similar to the runes etched into the flesh of her back. She opened her eyes to see a ghostly symbol like smoke dance in the air in front of her.

  She pressed her palm into the symbol, and a bright flash of light shimmered over the symbol, as if catching fire. The cut on her hand seared shut in a breath-stealing second. Magic thundered out of her, powering the sigil, before it slammed against Atlas. The spots of her blood flared a bright red, before slithering beneath his skin.

  He jolted, and gritted his teeth as he bit back a startled yelp, his back arching as the magic began to repair the damage. His flesh rippled, tendons worming their way across his back as his muscles twisted together. His skin bubbled up like liquid, spreading across the injuries, then smoothed out to reveal the unblemished surface of his back.

  The magic vanished as quickly as it came, and she staggered when the power left her suddenly, as if she was coming down off a high. The sudden lack of energy left her light-headed, her bones a little hollow and tender.

  No one spoke for a few heartbeats.

  “Is that normal?”

  “No, but if you’re desperate, you’ll be able to use your blood and the runes until we can figure out what’s blocking you from using magic directly.” Despite his dry statement, he seemed spooked at the way her magic responded to her request.

  Morgan reached up, brushing her fingers against her necklace. While it restricted her magic, it didn’t stop its use. “Did someone bind my magic?”

  The door banged open with a loud crack, and the crazy old elf barged in the room, glancing at each of them before storming up to her.

  “You lied!” He pointed an accusing finger at her, his blue eyes lighting with an inner fire. “You drew magic. It still clings to you like a brat to a mother’s skirts.”

  “Beware.” Ward muttered the warning under his breath as the elf rushed forward in a flurry of robes.

  “Come. You will assist me with my experiments.” He grabbed her arm, dragging her after him, the old coot stronger than she expected, and she was forced to stumble after him when she couldn’t break his hold.

  “I wish I could help, but we were separated from the rest of our group. We can’t stay.”

  The elf shook his head, waving a hand to brush away her protest. “If you want to stay out of the fog, everyone needs to earn their keep. Your group is safe…for now.”

  His high-pitched, girly laugh bordered on maniacal, raising the hairs on the back of her neck, while the ominous words had her head snapping around to study him. “What do you mean?”

  “You’ll see them later tonight…at the games.” He stopped in front of his lab bench, releasing her to drag his hand across the surface to clear the space, sending the clutter crashing to the floor.

  “Games?”

  “You’ll see.” His sing-song voice only made her worry more.

  She watched him grab a syringe, filling it with a liquid substance with a splash of red that looked a little too much like blood for her comfort. When he yanked up his sleeve, she nearly gagged. The scent of rotting flesh soured the air, and his arm looked almost honeycombed, where maggots had burrowed into his flesh. His skin was greasy, as if his whole arm had been remodeled with wet clay.

  Without missing a beat, he jammed the tip of the needle into his arm and injected himself with some sort of toxin.

  He shook out his sleeve, tossing the syringe on the table, raising a brow at her revolted expression. “It’s my own concoction, granting me temporary immunity to the fog, but I can’t sustain the potion. Each time, I require more and more of the serum, the effects wearing off quicker each time. You’re going to help me find a permanent solution.”

  Morgan turned to see that Ward and Atlas had followed her into the now-crowded room.

  The crazy old elf noticed at the same time and scowled. “I know you.”

  “We have never met.” Ward spoke first.

  The elf grabbed the pendant around his neck, studying the clear stone, then grunted when nothing happened. “No. You?” He glared at Atlas. “I know you.”

  “I haven’t been to court in over a decade. I’ve been living earthside.” Atlas stepped closer to her, and Morgan edged away from the old elf, not sure she trusted the vicious undertone in the room, needing space to move if violence erupted.

  The elf once again studied his pendant, and a slight pink glowed at the center. That’s when she realized it must be a truth stone. They were very rare and very expensive. When the elf didn’t see what he wanted, he began to mumble under his breath, tucking the stone to his chest protectively when he saw them watching.

  “You two clean up that workstation.” He waved them away dismissively, then turned toward her with a smarmy smile. “You may call me Katar.”

  He began to assemble bottles on the work station, humming and muttering to himself under his breath, and she decided he was blissfully unaware of the fact that he’d completely lost his mind. “Why do you need my help?”

  “Almost everyon
e in this godforsaken village is already infected, their magic either tainted or gone completely. We’re among the last few left.”

  “And why do you need magic?” Something about his obsessive, almost frantic movements put her on edge.

  “The fog is attracted to magic.” He shot her a look that said he thought she was an idiot.

  Ward shook his head, and she heeded his warning, breaking off her questioning. The last thing they needed was for him to lose his shit any more than what was already gone. “Look, I wish I could help you, but my magic is dormant. I’m unable to cast.”

  The elf peered at his stone, a scowl twisting his face. “No, that can’t be right.”

  He turned and grabbed her arm, striking faster than a snake, and slashed her with a knife, drawing a welt of blood along the back of her hand.

  “Hey!”

  Both Ward and Atlas tensed, but she gave them a subtle shake of her head. They needed answers and a way to find the rest of the team. If they caused a ruckus, they could lose their chance. The elf collected her blood by scraping the knife along her hand, hacking off layers of her skin in the process.

  He tottered over to a shelf, plucked off a jar and brought it back to the workplace. Curiosity got the better of her, and she followed.

  He set the jar on the surface, drew back his hand, and slammed the knife clear through the glass, muttering a spell under his breath. Magic splashed into the room, a darkness to it that slithered against her skin, and she quickly stumbled away when it felt like millions of centipedes were trying to worm their way inside her body.

  To her surprise, instead of shattering the glass, the knife and her blood passed clear through.

  That’s when she saw what was inside for the first time.

  Fog.

  He was feeding her blood to the fog.

  Morgan, a little morbidly, considered herself lucky that he hadn’t shoved her out the door like the elves at the castle did to their test subjects.

  But instead of feeding on the magic in her blood and turning it black, the fog recoiled, condensing at the far end of the jar, as if frantic to escape.

  Instead of being pleased, the test sent a shiver of dread down her spine.

  “Good.” Katar continued to watch the jar so avidly, it was like a creep watching a porno, his fingertips brushing covetously against the glass surface. He shook the jar for good measure, but her blood remained untouched, and a smile twisted his face until he was beaming. “We must do more testing.”

  The hair on her arms rose at his gleeful tone, and she knew she wasn’t going to enjoy his version of testing.

  Chapter Nineteen

  “Nononono!” Katar threw a book at her head, and she barely ducked in time to avoid having her face bashed. “You’re not trying hard enough.”

  “And I’ve told you that I am unable to cast magic. Repeatedly.” Morgan resisted the temptation to deck the fucker and leave, but if he had a way to cure the fog, they needed to keep trying. It was better than anything she’d come up with…which was nothing. Too bad Katar appeared to be as mad as a hatter. “Practice isn’t going to make my magic suddenly work. Don’t you think I’ve tried?”

  “Maybe you need a bit of incentive.” Katar darted toward Atlas and Ward where they were scrubbing the floor. Neither man was happy with their task, but they were going along with it for now. Without warning, Katar picked a book off the table, and wacked Ward over the head, dropping him like a stone.

  “Atlas!” Morgan dashed forward, knowing she wouldn’t reach him in time.

  Atlas jolted to his feet at her shout, reaching for the blade he normally kept at his waist, but clutching nothing but air.

  Katar reached into his pocket, but it wasn’t until he lifted his arm that she saw a syringe big enough for a dinosaur clutched in his hand. Atlas twisted, knocking the book away from Katar, but didn’t move fast enough to dodge the needle’s descent. Instead of stabbing his arm, Katar sank the needle deep into Atlas’s chest.

  They were only inches apart when recognition sparked in Katar’s eyes.

  “I remember you, impetuous boy. You tried to steal the power of Tartarus. We broke the seal. It was supposed to be ours.” Katar ripped the syringe out of Atlas’s shoulder and flung it to the floor.

  Pure hatred blazed from Atlas, and he grabbed the old elf by the front of his robes and hefted him off his feet. “You broke the seal? And for what? Some foolhardy attempt to steal power you had no hope to contain? You not only murdered my team, but thousands of others, when you released this cursed fog.”

  “How was I supposed to know they were bloody clever enough to booby-trap the seal?” Katar snarled in frustration, completely unconcerned at the threat Atlas posed. “We went there to finally destroy Tartarus and—”

  “You wanted power.” Atlas paled and staggered, dropping Katar as he clutched his shoulder, his face twisting in pain.

  With a smirk, Katar said, “After years of trying, we finally managed to breach Tartarus, but that was when the fog began to fill the area. It killed the others, but I managed to survive. It was stalking me when you and your team arrived.” He frantically searched the corners of the room, as if expecting the mist to worm its way between the stones. “The fog has been hunting me ever since, but I’ve been smart, disguising myself.”

  Morgan suspected he hadn’t escaped punishment completely. While he might not have been infected by the fog, the power he tried to steal had been so strong it scrambled his brains.

  “Instead of helping us stop the spread, you ran like a coward while the fog decimated my men.” Atlas spoke through gritted teeth, then staggered, knocking a series of vials to the floor, where they shattered.

  Morgan rushed toward Atlas, catching him before he toppled to the floor, and glared at Katar. “What did you give him?”

  “I told you.” Katar scowled at her in frustration, as if she wasn’t very bright. “You needed incentive, so I infected him.”

  “What?” Morgan’s head went light as a murderous rage surged through her veins.

  “If you want the cure, you will do as you’re told. He will have a fever for a few hours. Incubation is different for everyone. He won’t change for a day or two…if he’s lucky.” Katar smiled and turned away, clearly pleased with himself, his altercation with Atlas forgotten as if it never happened. “You’re the answer to everything.”

  Morgan no longer knew what to believe. The crazy elf spoke in riddles, full of half-truths and lies. She suspected he hadn’t given up his idea of breaching the seal and taking the power for himself. He wanted a new world, all right—one with him in command.

  “Are you really looking for a cure or immunity?”

  “Clever girl.” He bounced on the balls of his heels in excitement. “With your blood, we can find a way to bring the fog to heel. If we control the fog, we can control the realm, and people will tremble in fear of me.”

  “Unless the fog destroys the realm first.”

  “Bah,” he waved her protest away. “I have an army at my service, willing to do anything to save themselves or their families for a chance to receive the cure.”

  Morgan ignored Katar and tugged down Atlas’s shirt. The injection site already looked angry, dark gray streaks spreading out from the center. His skin was warm, the fever already burning through him. She snatched up the glass on the ground, slashed her palm and shoved her hand against his wound.

  “Don’t.” Atlas grabbed her wrists seconds before contact. “It’s too late, and you know it.”

  “No.” Morgan shook off his hold. “My blood can help. You saw how the fog reacted to it.”

  “Or you will end up pushing the infection through my body faster as it tries to escape your blood.”

  His words hit her with the power of a blow, and she recoiled from him, unaware of the shattered glass cutting into her hand.

  Remorse darkened his face. He was trying to protect her, unwilling to risk the infection spreading to her through an open wound, but h
e wasn’t wrong.

  “Morgan—”

  “I can find a cure.” She had no choice. This was her fault. She needed to find a way to keep them all alive, but she didn’t have the first clue how to go about it.

  “Put this on the other one.” Metal clanked to the floor next to her, and she stared down to see a collar, similar to the one Ascher wore when she first met him.

  “No.” Revulsion rippled through her at the thought of imprisoning anyone.

  “Then he dies.” Katar grabbed a bottle from the shelf. As soon as he uncorked the stopper and the liquid came into contact with air, it began to sizzle. Without sparing her a glance, he began to tip the bottle over Ward’s vulnerable face.

  “Wait,” she protested.

  Ward had his eyes open, but he didn’t take his attention away from her. “Do it.”

  She had to force her hand around the cursed collar. Ward sat, then leaned forward, willingly enslaving himself. When the metal finally clamped into place, Katar grabbed her arm and dragged her to her feet.

  “Well done. Every time he tries to use his magic, he’ll receive a nasty shock. If he dares to try and harm me, he will receive a shock. If he continues to glare at me, he will receive a shock.” So saying, Katar pressed the stone pendant at his chest, not releasing it until the collar began to turn red and singe the skin around Ward’s neck, waiting for him to scream or drop to the floor and convulse from the pain.

  Rage darkened Ward’s eyes until the silver disappeared, but his expression remained stoic, refusing to bow to the pain, which only seemed to piss Katar off more.

  “You shouldn’t poke the bear.” Morgan stepped between them, not wanting Katar to discover the truth about Ward. “You mentioned you wanted more tests.”

  Katar looked at her, shocked Ward one more time almost defiantly, then dropped the stone like a broken toy that didn’t work, clearly disappointed that he didn’t get the reaction he wanted.

  “Very well. Take your shirt off.” He turned away, his boots crunching glass as he made his way toward the worktable.