He staggered a bit with his first step. “Christ.”
“Are you sure you can make it?”
“Don’t worry, I got a bit of time before I crash.”
They needed to get back home fast. There was no way she could lift his weight if his body shut down to recover, and she couldn’t risk using Magic. Gods, she hoped these books contained the information she needed so she could use her Magic again. She juggled them a bit in her arm, trying to get a better grip.
Together, they made their way outside into the cool early-morning air. Duncan drew in a deep breath. “That house, I don’t know what it was, but I didn’t like it in there.”
“People leave a mark on their environment. Sometimes it’s pleasant—a scent or a feeling of warmth, other times it’s a stain.” She guided him down the two steps that led to the drive.
“And who lived here?”
“Her name was Rowena.” She swallowed. “She was my legal guardian.” The high priestess of our coven.
At the front drive, he came to an abrupt halt, forcing her to stop.
Four cars sat in the street. One tucked up tight blocking in her Jag. Several mercs in RI uniforms stood in various positions around the area, petrified mid-motion.
What the hell did they want? They’d showed up a few nights back when Rowena had tried to exchange Lilith for Crowley’s help in mesmerizing the coven to do her bidding.
One man was bent over, looking into her car with a flashlight. Three others had stopped mid-stride toward the house. Another sat in one of the vehicles, his hand on the door, his leg hanging out, as if he’d frozen when exiting the car.
“Come on.” He tugged her into motion.
“What if they . . ?”
“Look at their eyes.”
Only the whites showed. They were in trance, or possessed or—
“The Watchers have them.”
She tore her gaze from the tableau to give Duncan her attention as they walked. “How do you know?”
“Guardians didn’t always get kill orders via text. Back in the day, a stranger would approach, their eyes would roll up, and they’d freeze like that.” He waved a hand toward her car. “You need anything in there?”
“I left my purse at Haven House. The registration has my name on it, but the address is in Bremerton.”
The men began speaking in a monotone, though none moved and their eyes still faced inward. “When the Original comes, she’ll come to thee as three . . . .”
She stopped. Lilith was the Original, the reincarnated soul of the first woman. But what was this about coming as three?
“Keep walking, love. They wake as soon as they deliver their message.”
“All as human first, then as daemons are set free . . . .”
They hurried past, Duncan leaning heavier on her as they went.
The men continued. “The Beacon burning bright. The Shadow hidden from sight. The blighted, damned Knight.”
Why did that sound so familiar?
He pointed to an SUV parked in a drive farther up the road. “That’s mine.” He pressed the keys into her hand. “You better drive.”
She helped him into the passenger’s seat and closed the door, glancing back the way they’d come. The men were still frozen. Still talking.
The Beacon. The Shadow. The Knight. She’d heard this poem before. Somewhere. Maybe when she was a child?
Behind her, the car door opened. “Duchess?”
“Coming.” She hurried around the car and climbed in. He had the seat pushed all the way back, so she had to adjust it until she could reach the pedals and lower the steering wheel before she backed out of the drive.
The Beacon had to be Lilith. She’d always been so optimistic. Had a way of bringing light to any situation, no matter how dark things got.
Trina slowed the car as she entered downtown Carnation. The town looked like something out of the Twilight Zone. Idling cars dotted the two-lane road. While still early, 6:57 AM, the radio said, people were on the sidewalks, frozen in acts of civil unrest. Men and women petrified mid-run, their facial expressions mixtures of fear and somber determination, their arms filled with stolen goods. One woman had frozen as she swung a bat at a window, she’d been captured in time just before the wood collided with glass.
Duncan rolled down his window when she pulled up at the light. A chorus of monotone voices recited the same message. “. . . are set free. The Beacon burning bright. The shadow hidden from sight. The blighted—”
“Bloody hell.” He shook his head. “They have the whole damn town in trance. Like they weren’t quite sure how to get the message delivered.”
Like they knew the person they wanted to communicate with was in town, but unsure where. Like they couldn’t see him or her. A shiver lifted gooseflesh on her arms. She cranked up the heat. The Shadow hidden from sight.
He glanced at her. “Don’t suppose you know who the Original is?”
When the light changed, she returned her gaze to the road but she didn’t move. Should she tell him? The Watchers weren’t treating Lilith being the Original like a secret. Julius Crowley knew. She had to assume the Vampiric Council did, too. If she planned to allow Duncan to stick around, as her ally, he needed as much information as their enemies. The question came back to whether or not she intended to keep Duncan for the time being.
“Sun’s rising, love.” He shifted in his seat, grimacing.
The horizon had turned a lighter shade of violet streaked with pink. She hit the gas as the streetlight changed to red.
Duncan had made it clear he intended to fulfill his duty to the Watchers. To the Watchers, not to her. While that news had been disheartening—he didn’t seem to have any idea they might be destined mates—it also made her decision easier. He wouldn’t expect anything from her. Which was perfect, because she didn’t have anything but disappointment and pain to give. But if she was careful, if she didn’t use Magic, maybe she could keep him for a little while.
“Should I take from your silence that you know, but you don’t trust me enough to say?”
“The Original was the first woman.” That wasn’t so hard. No one else could hear her if Lilith was right. Oh, honey. Why would you think they’re any different from anyone else?
“What, in a biblical sense? Like Eve?”
She nodded. “I was reading about it when you showed up. Before the goddess made Eve from Adam’s rib, she made Adam and Lilith from the mud and gave them dominion over the Earth. Lilith wouldn’t submit to Adam. She wanted to be treated as his equal. When he refused, she left Eden and Adam got a new wife.”
“That’s it?”
“Well, no. When she left, she took a lover—”
“I thought Adam was the only man.”
She turned off Main. “Her lover was an angel.” Samael. “She was already a witch and he turned her into a vampire, making her the first daemon. They couldn’t have kids, though. Lilith could only create lesser daemons—some kind of minion or something. When she went back to Eden to see how Adam fared, she discovered Eve had children and got jealous. Vowed to kill any unprotected infants and make them her own.”
He let out a low whistle. “That must’ve pissed them off.”
“The goddess punished her, but I’m not sure how; I didn’t get that far. That’s why I grabbed the Black Book of Daemonology. I’m hoping the rest of the story is in there.”
“And this other book?” He stroked his hand over Rowena’s Grimoire.
“Lilith suggested I look up information on the Original in there . . . for a different reason.” No need to scare him by telling him about her Magic.
“So this Original is returning and we have to stop her?”
“I hope not. She’s my best friend.” The full weight of his attention settled on her. “I think she’s going to be our savior from the End Times, I’m just not sure how.”
“She’s returned to help the beings she once tormented?” He scoffed.
She slowed a
s she drove onto the dirt road leading to Haven House, wincing as the overgrown vegetation surrounding the lane scraped down the sides of the SUV. “Everyone deserves a chance at redemption.”
At least she hoped they did. She needed redemption. She needed to prove the coven wrong. She needed find a way to regain control of her Magic, destroy Crowley, and stop Armageddon so she could prove to everyone, including herself, that she didn’t always fuck everything up.
****
London, England
Vampiric Council Chambers
Fifteen Sentries stood before Leopold. Huge males, bigger than Sinclair, even. The shortest couldn’t be much shy of seven foot and was wide across as the old knotted willow that used to stand on his family’s property. They were solid muscle, all of them, so much so that their necks were almost as wide as their heads.
Now that they were here, he wasn’t sure how to proceed. With the Watchers privy to his every action, his every word, how did one go about tricking them? He couldn’t. The best he could hope to do, was to get his chess pieces into place without the Watchers figuring out his true intentions until it was too late.
He pulled a slip of paper out of his pocket. “Two of you will go to this address. Protect the gates. Kill anyone or anything that tries to get inside.”
One Sentry came forward. He took the paper, motioned to another Sentry and the two of them left. The gate they would protect was his own. The Watchers knew that—there was no way to hide it—but no one here on Earth knew where he lived.
He withdrew another paper, with another address. “I’ll require three Sentries for this job. Timing is essential. Augustina Saar must be destroyed.”
A few of the Sentries broke rank long enough to share speaking glances. Not many daemons would want to fight Augustina, but the Sentries would see it as a challenge and they loved nothing better.
Three stepped forward at the same time.
He handed the slip of paper to the closest. “I don’t care how she dies, but I want it done quickly. Kill anyone she’s with. When you’re finished, wait for further instructions.”
With a little luck they’d reach Augustina before either of Sinclair’s targets did. By now, it might be a moot point, they may have already met her. They may already know what they were and understand how much power they possessed. Which was why . . . . “I need one Sentry to stand at our portal and let me know if there’s any change.”
They hesitated this time. Guarding an inactive portal wasn’t a glorious assignment. The Original had shut the portals to Machon three hundred years ago and she was the only one who could re-open them. If Augustina had any sense of strategy, she’d send the women there to gather allies among daemon kind. It was the best they could hope to do since they were still missing the third part of the Original. The Knight was well out of their reach, he’d made damned sure of that.
Not even the Watcher inside Crowley had figured out what he’d done.
“I have intelligence that suggests the portal may open, and none on the other side are fond of the Council.”
Not after he’d tried to eradicate all who opposed him. Not after he’d had the coven destroyed. Julius—the thing inside him, was supposed to have finished the job long before now. Leopold had done his part, he’d provided the bastard with Julius’ body. He’d kept the secret, never speaking out loud about how he’d helped the Watcher escape Machon. But the Watcher had gotten pissed when Julius Crowley had trapped him inside his body and the portal to Machon had closed. The Watcher stopped everything, refusing to dust the remaining Guardian until he was free from Crowley.
Now the coven was back and as strong as ever. He couldn’t take them on, not as powerful as they were . . . but the Watcher could destroy them all.
All he had to do was get to the Original before the Watcher. That was his last remaining bargaining chip: To hold the key to the Watcher’s freedom.
The hint of the possibility of some action was incentive enough. One stepped forward, bowed and left.
“The rest of you remain on guard. No leave until further notice.”
Chapter 8
Carnation, WA
Duncan studied Trina as she parked in front of Haven House. “What aren’t you telling me? This friend of yours, she’s a vampire? A witch?”
“Both—James bit her; now she’s immortal but she still has a heartbeat and a reflection.”
He shook his head. “Impossible. If she were transformed, she’d lose her Magic when her Vampiric talent took over. Besides, all the witches are dead.”
She leaned her head back against the head rest. “We’re Grigori.”
Grigori? Weren’t they those balding monks who made calendars? No, wait, they were Gregorian.
His confusion must’ve showed because she added, “As in the Grigori Coven.” She got out of the car and slammed the door closed.
Bloody great. Rumor had it the Council had ordered the entire coven destroyed centuries ago during the Clearances. If they’d returned, why did Leo only want one of them dead? It was common knowledge that they’d eventually reincarnate, so did he not know the others had returned?
He must not. Had he, he’d have started a war in the effort to get rid of them. The coven could oust the current Council and return daemon kind to the way they had been before Leo took over.
This wasn’t what he’d signed up for. Christ, he thought he’d come here, put three people into hiding and head home. He stared out the windshield.
There wouldn’t be any going home. When Leo found out . . . Christ.
He couldn’t leave Trina on her own, not if he wanted to live with himself. Which left him at loose ends with Harry—he couldn’t keep the lad safe while on the run.
Fuck’s sake, this was a mess. He shoved his door open, which required far more effort than usual. Despite Trina’s care, his energy was diminishing fast. The front door of Haven House looked to be a million miles away. He needed blood. Hopefully, Pasquino had a stash inside.
She came around to take the books and help him out of the car. While he wished he didn’t need assistance, he’d have fallen flat without her help. They climbed the porch steps together. She left him leaning against the side of the house as she went inside. She could’ve left him there. The door shield would keep him out. He’d have no chance in hell of finding cover before sunrise.
Instead, she faced him. “I need your name.”
“Duncan Sinclair.”
She shook her head. “If we’re going to do this, we’re doing it right. Give me your full name.”
The woman was madder than a box of frogs. Someone who knew what they were doing could do a lot of damage with his full name. A witch could work all types of Magic on him. “Is this necessary?”
“You’re asking me to open my home to you.”
“After you shot me!” The windows on either side of the door reflected the first rays of sunlight cresting over the trees. He didn’t have time to muck about.
“I’ll be vulnerable to you once I invite you in. If you want my trust, you have to give me yours.”
“When we become Guardian, they expect us to kill anyone who knows our full names.”
Her eyes widened, she started to take a step back. Then she straightened, thrusting her chin up. “You can try.”
He couldn’t help but grin. “You’re too cheeky for your own good.” He dragged his hand over his stubble. “Duncan Samael Sinclair.”
For a long while, she stared.
“You leaving me out here?”
She started out of her daydream. “Duncan Samael Sinclair, you are welcome here.” She swallowed hard. “My home is your home.”
Now he was standing there staring like a bloody cabbage. She could’ve stopped at her invitation, giving him access until he left, but no, she’d given him total access to her, permitting him future access to any house she entered with no conditions. “Why’d you do that?”
“I’ve decided to keep you a while longer.” She shrugged.
/> He shouldn’t take it as a compliment, nor as a sign she might be warming to him, still warmth flooded him down to his toes. “Yeah?”
“Not that it’ll matter if you continue to stand out there.”
Right. Dawn. He pulled himself away from the house and went inside, glancing around at the odd conglomeration of cozy modern furniture nestled within the antique architecture. Deep rosewood wainscoting paneled the walls. A split staircase, leading to an upstairs landing, dominated the entry. Centered beneath, between the two curved staircases was a door protected with another door seal. “Anyone in there?”
“No. It’s a ritual room.”
A place of Magic—not meant for his kind. To the left of the entry, an archway led to a kitchen. There was an exit there and another door that maybe led to a basement or pantry.
Trina motioned him to the right, to the living room.
Paintings of ancient myths lay over acanthus wallpaper. An assortment of candles and little bowls covered the mantle over the fireplace. To the right of the fireplace, what almost looked like a cat lay over the high-back of an armchair.
He paused. To anyone else, it probably did look like a plain-Jane orange-striped tabby. To him it was slightly misshaped as if something bigger lived inside the cat. He motioned to the beast. “What the hell is that?”
“James’ cat, George.”
The feline-thing hissed.
No. Something about the creature was off. Way off. “That ain’t a cat.” He stumbled toward the loveseat—the biggest piece of furniture in the room and half fell, half sat. He’d heal fast enough, but if he didn’t start conserving his energy, he’d lose consciousness while his body repaired. That worried him. He didn’t like the idea of Trina being unprotected. He glanced at George. Not with that thing in the house. “You sure you trust it?”
She stroked her hand down George’s fur. Instead of purring, he growled, though he didn’t lift his head. “He’s not the nicest cat I’ve ever met, but he was possessed . . . and exorcized recently. I feel a little sorry for the grouchy boy.”
The Shadow: The Original's Trilogy Page 7