“One to California,” Deven said, counting out on his fingers, “One to New York, one to Prague.”
“And one for the blank terminus. That one only I will be able to use because it will require a spell each time, but I can set up the other three to be activated by Signets, so even the others can come and go when they like.”
“So Jacob could get to New York by coming here,” David mused, nodding. “We’ll be Grand Central Station. I like it.”
While they were talking, the Haven Town Car pulled up. “Were you going into town?” Nico asked David.
“Yes, but I didn’t call for a car,” he replied.
“I did,” Miranda spoke up. Everyone looked at her. She was still behaving a little oddly—preoccupied, even subdued. “Meeting.”
“You didn’t mention one,” David said.
She shrugged. “It’s kind of last-minute—my PR firm needs to talk to me, and I figure after what I’ve put them through lately if they want to meet, I’ll meet. I don’t think I’ll be out late…do you want a ride?”
David smiled. “That’s all right, I’ve got transport.”
To illustrate, he vanished, and Miranda rolled her eyes, but her smile wasn’t quite as good-natured as it normally was when amused by her Prime’s quirks.
“Are you all right?” Nico asked the Queen, laying a hand on her arm. “You’ve been…you don’t seem quite yourself tonight, or last night.”
She gave him a long, searching look, and for just a second he saw anguish in her face, but she covered it up quickly. “I’m okay…for now. There’s something…” She took a deep breath and squared off her shoulders. “It might be nothing. I’ll tell you both all about it when I get home, if there’s anything to tell. Just…give me until then, okay?”
“Of course,” he said, impulsively hugging her. She held onto him tightly for a moment before letting go and all but diving into the open car door.
Nico looked at Deven, who shook his head. “I don’t know what to make of it either. But I can feel it…something isn’t right…something we’ve all missed.”
“Do you have any idea what?”
The Prime frowned. “I’m not sure. I have…not an idea, exactly, but a feeling, or not even that. Just…I don’t know.”
It wasn’t like Deven to be lost for words, and it was clearly bothering him, but since neither he nor Miranda seemed to know what to say or what to think about it, Nico decided not to push. Sometimes even just a few hours could give someone the time and space to make sense of a problem; there was no need to force it.
“Well, I’m going to get to work on the Gate spell,” Nico said. “What’s your night looking like?”
“Cloister,” Deven said with a smile. “I’m trying to get to know the Acolytes better, so I asked them to meet with me a few at a time just to talk. Ashera and Siobhan will both be there to help make it less weird.”
“What sort of thing will you talk about?”
“Well, their histories, why they joined, that sort of thing—and any ideas they have for ways to make things work better now that they’ve been uprooted. They know their community and their customs far better than I do, so, I want to know what they need.”
Nico grinned at him—despite all his protestations and stubbornness Deven was taking to the role of Hallowed like a hawk to the air—and Deven made a face at him, then stood on tiptoe to give him a kiss.
“Have a good meeting, then, and I will see you later on,” Nico said, holding him tightly, comforted by the way his now-white hair tickled Nico’s chin. So many changes…but the important things stayed the same, as did a lot of the little comforts that he’d taken for granted.
Nico started to follow Dev back inside, but paused just at the door, looking down the road that all the cars had taken. A slow ripple of foreboding moved through him, thinking of the Queen’s face just before she left. He was tempted to go into the Web and follow her, to at least reassure himself she wasn’t in danger, but such an intrusion was a gross invasion of a loved one’s privacy, and he had to have trust that the Queen would say she needed help and not try to take on the world alone.
The problem was he didn’t really believe it.
*****
After years of working for vampires, perhaps it shouldn’t have surprised Novotny to turn on the light in his office and find one waiting for him, but he still started and dropped his briefcase.
They stared at each other for a long moment.
Finally, the doctor took a deep breath and bowed. “My Lady.”
She watched him without speaking for a few more seconds; in a vain attempt to hide his discomfort he bent and picked up the case and, standing, straightened his glasses. Under her unwavering gaze, he came into the office and closed the door, walking around her—cautiously, as if, should she attack him, he had any prayer of defending himself or escaping—to his chair.
She turned as he walked, keeping her eyes on him as he did on her, until he stood waiting for permission to sit. Finally, she nodded, and took the opposite chair. As soon as she sat, so did he.
“You know why I’m here,” Miranda said. She kept her tone steely, without any of the personable warmth she normally graced him with. Right now, for all she knew, he was her enemy. At the very least he was lying to her, and regardless of whose orders that was under, she wasn’t going to trust a word out of his mouth without reading him with her empathy as he spoke.
“I suppose I do.” Novotny removed his glasses and cleaned them, time-honored activity of an intelligent person trying to buy time. “I confess I didn’t think this would last as long as it has; if nothing else it’s a fascinating study into the nature of the Signet bonds.”
She leaned forward, elbows on the arms of the chair. “I suppose he swore you to secrecy.”
“On my very life,” Novotny confirmed, though he didn’t seem terribly worried. “And I’m sure you could make just as credible a threat…although I imagine at your hands I would meet my end much more humanely and quickly.”
She considered that, then said, “You have a point. He does know how to draw out physical agony to the fullest extent possible—he could turn your ribcage to shards inside your chest without breaking your skin. But do you really think I don’t know how to hurt you?”
She pinned him with her stare, letting him see just the edge of the anger under her shields. “Do you think I wouldn’t lock you inside your own mind for the rest of your life and make you relive your worst moment over and over? Or take your greatest day…the birth of your son, perhaps…and mutate it in your memory, turning the joy into fear, or shame? I could twist your heart around so hard you’ll never feel a moment’s peace again.”
As she spoke she nudged his mind, seeking out his instinctive fear and dialing it up, without trying to hide she was doing so, to the point of terror. “I could even make you so afraid your heart would give out. Isn’t that one of the worst fates a human can face, to die alone and afraid?”
She let the fear slide back down to a sensible level, leaving him panting and sweating, his eyes huge and white like a panicked horse’s.
After letting him sit with that a second, she said, “Now…let’s not get ahead of ourselves. We’re not enemies, are we? I know that whatever’s going on, you don’t like it any more than I do. So I’m going to stop waving my dick around, and you’re going to tell me what’s happening to my husband.”
They talked for nearly an hour.
Chapter Fourteen
“Good evening, Hallowed One,” the guard at the door said, bowing.
It took Deven a beat to realize the greeting hadn’t come from one of the Acolytes—it had come from one of the Haven Elite. He paused and looked at the man.
The guard looked down, suddenly self-conscious. Deven recognized him from the most recent round of Elite trials but didn’t know his name. “Are you a member of the Order?” he asked.
The guard cleared his throat, apparently shock
ed at his own temerity in using the title in his greeting. “No, my Lord, I…I’ve been posted here all week, and…”
Deven nodded, smiling. “Why don’t you come in?”
“Oh, no, Sire, I couldn’t leave my post—”
“Of course you can. You have my permission. Come on.”
Eyes widening, the guard nodded. “Thank you, my Lord.”
That was hardly the last surprise of the evening; upon entering the temple, Deven saw there were at least twice as many people there as expected—he’d meant only to talk with a few Acolytes, but it looked like everyone in the Order was here…and they weren’t the only ones. There were at least three other Elite, one of the servants…
…and one of the Elves.
Deven looked them all over without letting his gaze linger on anyone, especially the latter—the last thing he wanted to do was spook the poor girl, who already looked like she was about to come out of her skin sitting in a room full of vampires and humans. Instead, he joined Ashera and Siobhan at the front of the room by the altar and, after bowing slightly to the crowd to indicate they should sit, turned to Ashera.
“What’s going on?” he asked quietly. “I thought this was a small meet-and-greet thing.”
Ashera looked a bit sheepish. “I apologize, Hallowed One, but…they all wanted to be here…everyone is wondering…”
“Wondering what?”
“How to reach Her,” Siobhan finished, her young face determined, touched with a very mortal immediacy.
“Oh.” Of course…they all knew where he’d been, to Whom he had spoken.
He turned to them.
He knew what they’d been hoping—that he could take them there, right now, tonight. That longing he could see on their faces was so raw and aching, a need he’d felt himself for most of his life but pushed away. Wandering the world knowing there could be so much more, that that empty place could be filled, was a pain all its own.
That yearning…it made him ache as well. There had to be something he could do for them now.
He tried to think back to Eladra…she had been denied direct contact with Persephone as well, but she had performed rituals that at least brought Her energy into the world for the others to experience. Drawing Down the Moon, Aspecting…it had always been an important part of the Order. He had no idea whatsoever how to do it, but perhaps he didn’t have to know; perhaps he only had to be willing.
He took a deep breath and touched his Signet, letting his fingers close around the Darkened Star. He didn’t know what to say or ask, hadn’t had time to learn the liturgy or the prep work. Eladra had spent at least a full night in meditation before a ritual to invoke the Goddess, but she’d been working blind. He might not have her training or experience but he wasn’t going to let them down.
First he addressed the Blood-Bound: “You all understand that only those who have died can have direct contact with the Raven Mother. That much hasn’t changed.”
The humans looked at each other and nodded, unsurprised. It had always been a condition of joining the Order as a human that their devotion to Persephone involved far more faith than experience; historically after years of service and study they would be given the choice to fully initiate, at which point they’d be allowed to join in the vampire-only rituals where the Hallowed performed an Aspecting and drew the power and presence of the Goddess into the temple through her body.
“Shall we leave the temple, then, Hallowed One?” Siobhan asked, though it was clearly the last thing any of them wanted to do.
He looked at her, seeing her pain, feeling it echoed in everyone in the room. The Order had served Her for centuries with no promise She would return, and that included the Blood-Bound as much as the immortals.
“No,” he said. “I want all of you to stay.”
Deven nodded to himself and faced them with the absolute certainty that, at this one moment, he knew exactly what he was doing.
He took a deep breath and said, “The Blood-Bound are held separate for a reason—to ensure they understand what it means to surrender their humanity and leave the daywalking world behind forever to enter into the service of the Lady. And the ability to enter into Her presence at will, while awake, is a privilege reserved for the Circle. For centuries members of the Order have communed with Her in meditation, in dreams—and through invocation rituals performed by the Hallowed or the High Priestess of their particular Cloister. In the past those experiences have been by their nature limited because She was so far beyond our reach, but that’s no longer true.”
He found himself smiling at the way their eyes lit up with hope, and went on. “Tonight is a celebration. A new era among our kind has begun, you might even say a new Order, and you here in this room are its first initiates. Together we will shape the future of Elysium on Earth. And the truth is, I have no idea what it will mean for you; I barely even know what it means for me. I ask your patience going forward as I learn to serve you, and Her. But tonight…tonight I want to give you all a gift.”
Deven waved a hand, drawing up the touch of pyrokinetic power that everyone in the Circle had inherited from Cora, and the candle sconces on the walls all burst to light. There were gasps—it occurred to him that most of the people here weren’t used to the weird variety of powers the Circle had. Another gesture and the electric lights went out.
He didn’t stop to consider how embarrassing it would be if his plan didn’t work; the truth was, he knew it would, because he could already feel the energy building in the back of his mind, rising up along the Dark Web, lapping like water around him. He could feel something else…approval, much the same as he’d sense from one of the Tetrad, but from somewhere beyond them, beyond anything, yet bound as intimately to his every cell as Nico was.
She was listening. It shouldn’t have surprised him…but again, he had spent most of his life calling into a void that never answered. Now, it seemed, he didn’t even have to call.
He closed his eyes and opened his shields to Her, extending himself down through the Web, reaching out to take the offered Hand.
Silver-black surrounded him, and he considered it for a moment, part of him trying to balk. What She was asking him to do required an act of trust he would have laughed at before.
But he had already surrendered to Her in asking to live. There was work to do, and this was part of it. The time to hesitate had come and gone. And when he remembered all those eyes on him, all that hope and longing, it wasn’t nearly as terrifying as he thought it would be to just…let…go.
He could, again, feel Her pride, and Her love, as She surged into his body, flooding through him like the sea, pouring out into the room and into every heart and mind before him. He could sense Her speaking, not to him but to each of them at the same time, dozens of conversations, embraces, touches, blessings, love, healing…all of it at once, Her energy weaving its way through them all, bringing renewal and strength to even the most jaded heart…his own.
He understood, then, why to take this role he had to be “something new.” No single person could channel this much Divine energy without either dying or going mad, but whatever he was now, this was what he’d been remade for. She had taken a broken heart and mended it with veins of silver, leaving it empty but ready to fill until overflowing, to reach through him to Her children…not every night, but when the Moon was dark…yes.
She imparted knowledge to him as She embraced the others in the temple: This would drain him, dramatically, and he would have to replenish himself with the power of death. He at least would have to kill every month even though the others could divide up the sacrifice in whatever way they needed to as long as it totaled eight lives. His need would be unavoidable…and he would need help in satisfying it.
He had no idea how long the communion lasted. It might have been five minutes and it might have been five hours. By the time he felt the rush of power beginning to wane, his awareness of himself as an individual creature was all but g
one, and he had no way to know how weak he was until he felt his skin enclosing him again and, seconds later, his knees hitting the floor.
Hands took his arms and lowered him, as they had lifted him up only a few nights ago; he could neither speak nor move on his own, and would probably have been terrified at his own helplessness if he’d had the capacity.
He had no way to communicate what he needed. Neither limbs nor lips responded to his will. He could only lay there barely conscious, able only to keep breathing.
“I am here, Hallowed One,” came a soft voice. “I am here for you.”
Someone got his mouth open, and a moment later he tasted blood. Suddenly hunger overwhelmed him, what tiny bit of strength he still had staggering forward to seize the throat before him and tear into it, the need so powerful there was no room for thought or reason. There was no fighting it. There was only blood.
He drank until he felt the life in his hands shuddering, heartbeat matching heartbeat and slowing even more, and he couldn’t stop. The body against his didn’t struggle; in fact it seemed completely relaxed, unafraid, and the first sensation to break through the hunger was the feeling of a gentle hand on his face, stroking his cheek, accepting.
Death erupted from her and into him, filling him up until every iota of lost strength was replenished and thensome. He’d killed on the hunt before, long ago, but it was nothing like this. This had not been murder, it had been sacrifice, willingly given out of love and devotion.
The hand fell away from his face.
Silence descended.
The first sound was his own breath, panting; the next was the sound of a crackling fire. Smells came next: blood, of course, and smoke, candle wax, incense…
Deven opened his eyes, expecting to see the entire congregation gaping at him in fear or disgust, but this was not the temple. Where was he?
“Easy,” someone said. “Move slowly.”
Ashera. He swallowed, still tasting blood, his mouth dry; before he could try to frame a plea, he felt a cup at his lips. Water.
Shadow Rising (The Shadow World Book 7) Page 29