Alexander could not help himself. He strode over and planted his foot on Alton’s chest, bending down so he was only inches from the other man’s face.
“She did not want to die, you bastard. She wanted you to love her and protect her. She wanted a father, and she got a sadistic killer. Now it is time to pay. Take it like a man, if you can. I do not mind saying that I am damned well going to enjoy watching it.”
He straightened and took up his position again. Beyul was waiting for him. Alexander looked down at him, then shook his head. The beast could walk through live spell circles, and Xaphan’s fire had no effect on him. Chances were he was safer than anyone else at the party.
By the time everything was ready, Alton had begun to cry, and there was a smell of urine. A damp patch spread across the front of his pants.
“Start anytime,” Giselle called.
Alexander slid the sheath off the knife and dropped it. The silver blade was nearly two feet long, and Giselle had painted symbols thick on both sides of it. He crouched. Alton’s binding circle was a thick gray powder with glints of red, green, black, and silver. A dribble of brown splatters went down the center. Blood. Running along outside it was a glowing band of hex marks. It was elegant, and the marks were crisp and powerful. Holt’s work. Alexander was going to have to cut through both to free the Fury.
He straightened and approached the black spell ball. With any luck, the ball would absorb the explosion of magic and let him survive. His mouth twisted. It would take a hell of a lot of luck.
Bracing himself, he bent and slashed through the two circles. He drove the blade deep into the rocky soil and pulled it across the two of them.
The magic burst free. Alexander went flying high in the air. He smashed against the wall of the next binding circle. Bones snapped. The air went out of his lungs, and he dropped to the ground in a heap.
He could not move. He was utterly paralyzed. Sound roared in the air like an avalanche. The reverberation grew louder, and magic pounded at him. Then he heard something else. Felt it. It was a scream. It was full of madness, rage. It churned through the ground, which rose and fell as if it were a storm-driven wave. Wind, smoke, gravel, and dust spun through the air in a stinging hurricane. It tore the breath from him.
The sense of a presence rolled near, and fear grasped Alexander deep in his intestines. Horror washed through his mind, and if he could have moved, he would have screamed. He would not have been able to stop.
The presence came closer. A primitive voice in Alexander’s head shrieked at him, Danger! Run! But he was powerless to twitch so much as a muscle. His lungs moved only with great effort, and his heart stuttered unsteadily.
Then he heard a growl. It cut through the sound and seemed to come from the core of the earth itself. The presence stopped and answered with a screech that ruptured Alexander’s eardrums. Pain spiked through his skull, and sound went hollow and spongy except for a ringing that pounded at the inside of his skull like a fire alarm. Nausea washed through him, and his head spun drunkenly.
The wind increased, and the scream went on. Alexander convulsed and seized, the sound tearing him apart. Then, suddenly, a weight sprawled across him. Beyul. The beast growled again, and it vibrated down through Alexander. Instantly, his body stilled, and the scream was dimmed. He felt the presence lunge, and Beyul snapped his teeth. A wave of power exploded from the Grim, and the Fury’s scream cut off suddenly. She retreated across the circle.
Beyul licked Alexander’s cheek wetly and nuzzled his ear. Very doglike. Except that no ordinary dog could have chased a Fury away.
Feeling began to return to his body as his healing spells kicked into high gear. Slowly, he sat up, pushing Beyul off him. The Grim was not having it. Beyul snuggled close, onto Alexander’s lap. He scratched the beast’s ears and then pushed him away. He staggered to his feet, squinting through the blinding whirl of smoke, dust, and debris.
All at once, the wind stopped. The sudden lack of sound was almost painful. Alexander stumbled as the thrust of the wind vanished. The dust and smoke slowly settled.
As it thinned, he could see across the circle to where Alton was staked to the ground. He could hear the witch sniveling. Beside him was the Fury. It was hard to see what she looked like. Smoke coiled around her, and shapes shifted within. He caught a glimpse of shining white claws, curved teeth, and black wings.
“Cora,” Lise was saying. She stood on the edge of the circle, with Xaphan and Tutresiel flanking her. “Please listen. Please remember who you are.” She was crying, and her voice was choked.
“Please!” Alton echoed. “I told you. You said you wanted to help me. You wanted it!”
“Wanted?” the Fury repeated. Her voice was metallic and unworldly, a weaving of a thousand or a million voices into one. Then she laughed, and it echoed across the ravine and up into the mountain peaks. The sound wrapped around Alexander’s intestines and sent fear burrowing down into the deepest recesses of his soul. It was all he could do not to let his bladder go.
The laughter cut off.
“Does a daughter want her father to cut her apart and bleed her? Does a daughter want her father to listen to her beg for her life with deaf ears? Does a daughter want her father to reach into her body and drench his hands in her blood so that he can write his spells on her flesh?” Her voice was almost emotionless, except for the thread of rage that underlined each word.
She reached out with a smoky, spectral arm and flipped away the witch chain. Instantly, Alton burned through his bonds and rolled away. He leaped to his feet. He balled magic between his hands and sent it rushing at her. It disappeared inside the whirling gossamer smoke that clothed her. She laughed again, and Alexander sank to his knees beside Beyul. He needed to make himself smaller, to keep her from noticing him.
Not giving up, Alton hit her again and again. Nothing had any effect.
Except . . .
The Fury’s rage thickened until it was nearly choking. Alexander wanted nothing more than to dig a hole and bury himself until she passed.
At last, she had enough. She swept forward with preternatural speed and grasped Alton by the throat. She lifted him into the air, and then, with delicate grace, she cut into his chest with a single claw. It was thin and razor-sharp. She started at the sternum and drew her finger slowly downward.
Alton shrieked and kicked as she held him. Blood gushed down his body, drenching his clothes and dripping to the ground. When she’d cut to the middle of his stomach, she veered left and then right, until she’d cut an upside-down Y, allowing his guts to spill out.
No longer able to scream past the Fury’s grip on his throat, Alton keened like an animal caught in a metal trap. Alexander could not find any pity for him. He had made his bed, and now it was going to kill him.
The Fury continued to cut him, though nowhere fatal. She wanted him to bleed and suffer. Her hold on his throat allowed him to breathe and to feel all that she was doing.
Soon ribbons of blood were pouring off him. His clothes hung in shreds. He was growing weaker and weaker. He would be dead soon. Then the Fury did something unexpected. She pulled him close and kissed him. It was a chaste kiss, the kind a daughter presses upon her father. Alton spasmed, his body twitching violently. Then he went limp. The Fury held him out from her, examining him, and then dropped his body to the ground like a broken doll.
Alexander’s stomach clenched. Now they would find out if their preparations had meant anything. He glanced at the matrix ball. It pulsed with power. But had it leached away enough? The Fury did not seem crippled in any way.
She was still for a long moment, and then she began to walk the edges of the binding circle. Or, rather, she floated a foot or more off the ground. She gave wide berth to Alexander and Beyul and paused at the spell matrix ball. A moment later, she returned to Alton. Then Lise caught her attention.
“Cora. Do you remember me? I’m Lise. We were friends. Do you remember? We used to go fishing together. And remember th
e time I took you shopping for clothes? Your father hated me that day.”
The Fury drifted closer and reached out to Lise. The circle blocked her. She pushed against it. It did not give. Once again, the air inside thickened with rage. Alexander felt a drawing, as if she were pulling power in from the earth and the air. She drove at the barrier again, hammering it with blows that shook the ground. Flames rolled around her, rippling like wildfire.
“Cora! Calm down! We just want to talk to you. We need you to calm down before you kill innocent people!” Lise was shouting.
The Fury stopped. “There are no innocent people,” she said in a cold, cruel voice. And then she renewed her attack.
Against such elemental power, the circle could not hold.
It burst, and Lise and the two angels were thrown backward to bounce against the invisible wall of the next circle. The force battered at Alexander. Once again, his eardrums burst, and blood ran from his ears and nose. He jumped to his feet and lumbered forward. The Fury was in a killing mood. He had to stop her before she broke through and slaughtered the coven and everyone else within a couple of hundred miles; there had to be a way.
He reached Lise before the Fury did, but only because the creature had turned her attention on the two angels. She seemed confused by them.
Both stood still as she approached. It was as if they had rehearsed the moment. Tutresiel did not have his sword. Neither looked worried. Alexander hoped they did not need to be.
The Fury reached out to touch Xaphan’s chest, and he batted her hand away. She made a low screeching sound and thrust her hand out again. This time, he caught her arm and shoved her back. Alexander pushed Lise down beside Beyul and stepped in front of her. What was Xaphan doing? He had to know he was only making her angrier.
The Fury screamed and came at the fire angel with both hands outstretched. She trailed an unearthly dress of smoke and flame. She slashed at Xaphan, who dodged and shoved at her, sending her careening into Tutresiel, who caught her in his arms, his wings closing tightly around her. She struggled and screamed as Xaphan wrapped himself around the other two, until the Fury was sandwiched between their bodies and wrapped in a cocoon of metal and fire.
Magic built inside the circle. It pulsed and pounded as if an ocean were pouring down on top of them. The spell matrix could not hope to gather it all.
A low sound built deep in the ground. No, it was more than sound.
A shiver of fear spiraled down Alexander’s spine as a knife of ice slid along his nerves. Pain fractured him as the pitch grew higher. Rocks exploded. Sharp-edged gravel hailed down. Alexander could hardly get a breath. The air had congealed. The pressure clamped his body and organs, and he felt his insides rupturing. His head was being squeezed in a vise, and the coppery taste of blood filled his mouth.
Lise lay on the ground. Blood ran from her eyes, nose, mouth, and ears. Her chest jerked with desperate gasps, and her lips were blue. Beyul sat beside her. He appeared unaffected by the noise or the pressure. Alexander reached down to help Lise, although he had no idea what he could do.
He never touched her.
The world exploded in fire. It rushed outward with what felt like the force of a nuclear bomb. The ground burned. Alexander burned. He fell on Lise to protect her. The outer three-layered circle burst, one layer at a time. The stench of burning sulfur filled the air. They were in hell.
He heard screams, and a wave of powerful magic smashed back through the flames. The world bucked and heaved. Alexander went blind, then deaf. Then he felt nothing at all.
ONCE MAX STEPPED INTO THE ABYSS she cleared her mind, considering what to do next. She’d told Ilanion that she’d meet him back at the compound, but she meant to run an errand or two first. Specifically, since she could go right where she wanted to out of the abyss, she was going to try to find Scooter’s silk and horn.
Which to go for first? Not that it mattered. He needed both, or he was going to die. She decided on the horn for no better reason than that it reminded her of the Calopus that had been following her.
She had no idea what it would look like or how big it would be, but she focused her attention on going to Scooter’s horn as she dove into her fortress and pulled herself through to the other side.
Max dropped into a lightless room. Her night vision easily penetrated it. She could see in cave darkness. It was only Chadaré’s weird shadows that gave her problems. Did that mean she wasn’t in the city? Not that it mattered.
The room was empty of any furniture or decoration. The walls, ceiling, and floor were covered with symbols painted with—
She sniffed.
Blood. It was Divine blood. Every square inch of the place was covered with tiny overlapping symbols except for a round pedestal in the middle. It was made of petrified wood. On top was the horn. It was about three feet long and twisted in a thick, whorled spiral, about six inches across at the base and ending in a dull point. It had been crusted with gold and jewels and was gaudy as hell. It sat on a green cushion. Where it sat was surrounded by a dark stain, as if blood had leaked there. Or still did. The fabric looked wet and smelled distinctly of Scooter.
Max’s lip curled with anger, but she reined it in. Now wasn’t the time. She glanced around again. There were no windows or doors. What was this place?
She twisted to look behind her, not moving her feet. Something was wrong. It felt like a trap. But how did she spring it? Or had she already done so?
She waited. Nothing happened. Minutes went by. Five. Ten. Fifteen. Still, she remained immobile as she tried to figure out just how much trouble she was in. Finally, she sighed. Every minute she waited was another Scooter didn’t have. She had to move. She could jump the ten feet to the pedestal. Hell, she could grab it in the air and drop into the abyss before she ever hit the ground.
It sounded good. Possible, even. She didn’t have a lot of other choices. She drew a breath and flexed her fingers. She tensed and then sprang. In that moment, the writing in the room flashed brilliant crimson.
Max found herself frozen helplessly in the air, stuck like a bug in amber. She tried to kick herself forward and swim through the air. It was futile. She couldn’t even swear out loud at her own stupidity.
Inwardly, she fumed. What a stupid, fucking idiot. Well, she sure as hell wasn’t going to stick around until someone came and got her. She had the abyss. Max dropped into her fortress, but as hard as she yanked, she couldn’t pry herself loose. She was really and truly trapped.
Minutes ticked past as she waited for someone to come for her. No one did.
Hours creaked by. A whole day. Still no one came.
What were they waiting for? Were they trying to torture her? She was hungry, and she was going to explode if she didn’t pee soon.
Max wasn’t sure how much more time had passed when another presence entered the chamber. Her muscles clenched against her prison to no avail. Then a scent reached her. The Calopus? How was it possible? How had it found her, and why?
The spiked wolf padded across the floor, completely oblivious to the trap. Maybe once sprung, it had no effect on anyone else. But how did it get there in the first place?
It stood up on its hind legs, bracing its forelegs on her shoulders as it looked into her face. It licked her, its tongue rough as a cat’s, before dropping to the floor with a whining sound.
It was an intelligent creature, but Max didn’t know the language Tarzan had used to order the critters about, and even if she did, it wasn’t like she could say anything. Frustration burned in her stomach. Fuck fuck fuck. Drag me out of here! she wanted to yell, but the words dissolved on her paralyzed tongue.
It seemed that the Calopus heard her, or at least had ideas of its own. It stood on its hind legs again and closed her forearm in its teeth. Hope clutched in Max’s chest. The beast dropped back to the floor, dragging her down. Max dropped to the height of the beast’s head. Good, she thought. Now, get me the hell out of here.
Again, the Calopus answered
her unspoken command. Still gripping her arm, it backed toward the wall. And then through it like it wasn’t even there.
Max closed her eyes when her head was about to smash into the symbol-inscribed paneling. But instead, she passed through as if through ice water. On the other side, she fell to the floor with a thud. The Calopus let go of her arm and nosed her urgently. Get up. It’s not time to rest. Dangerous.
Max couldn’t hear the words, but she understood the message well enough. But instead of getting up, she reached out and grabbed a handful of fur just below the Calopus’s spikes. Then she dove into her fortress. Just before she did, she felt a whir of wind and a streak of pain just over heart. Then she and the Calopus were in the abyss.
The spiked wolf trembled and clawed closer to Max, who put her arms around the beast. Thank goodness for the armor, or the spikes would have turned her into a sprinkler.
A second later, she was going back through her fortress to Ilanion’s compound. There wasn’t any point in going after the silk. It was probably booby-trapped, too. She had to figure out another way to get them back.
Once again, she landed on Ilanion’s bed. The Calopus yelped and scrambled frantically out of the smothering nest of blankets. Max followed.
Her shoulder ached where she’d been hit before her escape. She looked down at herself. A black patch the size of a grapefruit stained the armor. There was actually a hole in it about the size of Max’s middle finger, and it looked as if an arrow point had started to go through her shoulder. Her skin was about as black as the armor, but her healing spells were fighting off whatever poison had been on the tip. The armor wasn’t so lucky.
She called the ribbon of notes in her mind and was answered with a spatter of painful sounds that had no harmony. She looked down at the damage to the armor again. The black patch was growing. What the hell could poison it?
Quickly, she told it to loosen so she could pull it off. She didn’t know if it would help, but returning to its natural shape couldn’t hurt. It took a long moment for the armor to respond, and when it didn’t fully release, Max had to struggle out of its grip.
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