Grave Mistake (Codex Blair Book 1)

by Izzy Shows

  I blinked a few times as I refocussed in on Emily, slightly disoriented from the different modes of communication. “What?”

  “I asked what we’re going to do.” She sounded agitated, her lips formed a tight line and she was tapping her armoured foot on the ground.

  “Raven’s coming to help us.” I supplied immediately, eager to reassure her that we weren’t royally screwed.

  “Who’s Raven?” She frowned.

  “Uh.” My lips matched hers in a frown of their own, eyebrows lifting up and out a bit as I tried to think of how best to condense the information.

  “I am Ms. Blair’s guide.” Raven materialised beside me, and I jumped out of my skin as soon as they spoke.

  This was technically the second time I had seen them in a human form—the first having been when they’d invited me into their memories—and I had not been expecting it. They had the same short hair, this time whiter than blonde, that appeared to have been gelled back. I had a moment to get a better look at their face than I had in the memory—much more angular than I had originally thought, with sharp cheekbones and a well-defined chin. Their body had the same feminine physique that I had seen before, and their clothes were rather nondescript, gender neutral. Aside from the hair, they didn’t look that out of the ordinary, and yet every hair on my arms and the back of my neck stood on end and my muscles clamoured for me to move away.

  Raven was scary.

  Emily did not appear to undergo the same reaction that I did, merely inclining her head in a calm fashion. “And you will dismantle this obstacle?”

  Raven turned their head towards the barrier Emily had indicated for them. I felt my breathing regulate, come and go a little more evenly—Raven would be able to handle this. They would be able to handle the whole thing, I wasn’t on my own. I had been running out of steam, the terrifying realisation that I was going into this alone without Aidan to guide me had been creeping up on me. Now that Raven was here I felt a little better, and I even allowed myself a small smile.

  “It is a complex thing, not impossible to allow passage through, but to fully remove it I would need a great deal of time.” They said, voice passive and seemingly removed from the situation.

  “We don’t have time, Raven.” I snapped, frowning. “We don’t even have time for this conversation!” My voice turned sharp as I flirted with hysteria.

  “Indeed. I will hold the wall while you pass through it, and you will continue on to your battle.” Their grey eyes settled on me, and the urge to fidget suddenly rose inside of me. I picked at the side of my jeans, my stomach churning as I realised what they had said.

  I was alone again.

  “Please.” Emily spoke, smiling at Raven as if oblivious to my own inner turmoil.

  The two of them walked away from me—expecting me to follow?—until they stood before the barrier. Raven lifted their hands and placed them on the barrier and began to chant.

  I resisted the urge to drag my feet as I came up behind them, biting into my lip and tasting blood. I wasn’t certain if I had broken the skin there or if it was the blood from my cheek.

  It didn’t take long for Raven to lift the barrier, and Emily dragged me across without hesitating—apparently, she had been aware of my turmoil, otherwise she would have allowed me to cross on my own.

  39

  WHAT I SAW ON THE OTHER side made me want to turn tail and run.

  Four men stood around the three trees, hands held high to the sky. Their sleeves were rolled up above their elbows, and a sudden crack of lightning displayed for just a moment the blood snaking down their arms like intricate scarlet tattoos.

  Thunder broke above my head, forcing my mind to work, and I wondered briefly when the storm had begun.

  Only it wasn’t a storm. There was no rain, though I knew I had seen the lightning and heard the thunder.

  The voices from the circle grew louder—they were unaware of us it seemed—and another bolt of lightning snaked down to just outside the circle.

  Then the rain began.

  They had called the storm.

  It did not have a gentle start, but rather it was an instant downpour, drenching me within seconds.

  I spared a glance at Emily, the rain drops bouncing off her impervious armour. I saw the determination in the firm set of her jaw, and allowed myself to pull strength from it.

  My own jaw tightened and I lifted my chin. If they wanted to play with lightning, I could oblige them.

  I took two steps forward, amazed at the fact that my legs didn’t shake, and reached both arms toward the sky.

  I pulled from both within myself and from the energy around me—the ritualists were generating a lot—and allowed it to build for a moment before I sent it forth. I felt it roll through me—I was beginning to feel more and more comfortable with the sensation—and slam out of my fingertips, leaving me with the sensation of sizzled nerve endings. I directed my hands down a bit and straight at the ritual circle at the last moment.

  And the world lit up.

  It was not one bolt of lightning, but rather several that scattered out of me at slightly varying intervals, and it gave light to the macabre scene for a few moments.

  I felt, rather than heard, the hush fall on the circle. Not one of them turned to look at me as a shield shot up from the ground at the last second to deflect the lightning.

  The pit inside my stomach grew and chewed at my insides, and I briefly contemplated throwing up.

  The shield dropped as quickly as it had risen, and slowly the four men turned their heads to look at me.

  My eyes jumped from one individual to another, looking with my heart and not with my mind, trying to humanise them. Trying to find the parts of them that knew what they were doing was wrong and hurtful and that this needed to stop.

  Trying to find a diplomatic solution so that I would not have to be a part of this.

  I could feel my heart breaking when I didn’t find what I was looking for in their faces.

  “Blair Sheach.” The voice did not belong to any of the four men, their lips did not move, and the tone of command inherent to it struck terror to my bones. I glanced behind me to Emily, needing to see the strength in her.

  She did not waver, her aggressive stance did not falter, and she nodded at me to continue.

  “You seem to have me at a disadvantage.” I called back as I turned to face them again.

  “You should leave this place.” The voice made me want to, made me want to turn and run and be far away from this entire mess. I dug my heels into the ground and balled my hands into fists, nails biting into my palms.

  “That sounds like a great idea. Why don’t you come with me? Let’s get a cup of tea. Talk it all over.” My voice faltered slightly, sounded forced. I bared my teeth in a semblance of a smile that did not come close to reaching my eyes.

  “Leave!” The voice boomed at me, and I found that I had taken a step back without meaning to.

  Well, that’s rude.

  I pulled in a breath of air and let it rush out of me, my lips twisting into a scowl. “Be that way.” I snapped, more to myself than to the voice, and stomped forwards.

  I heard the comforting clanking of Emily’s boots hitting the cobblestones behind me as she followed.

  It can’t get too bad, I’ve got a fucking knight in shining armour backing me up.

  I tried to reassure myself, but it didn’t help too much. The four men abandoned their positions to form a wall between me and the circle, protecting the leader that had to be inside. The one on the far left had grabbed up a staff and now gripped it with both hands—a comfort for him, or a challenge for us?

  “All right, fuckers. Let’s dance.” I muttered under my breath, jerking my chin up in a clear invitation to the men.

  The two on either outside lunged forward without waiting to check with the others as to their plans, and I was surprised for a moment at how coordinated it all seemed. It was as if the world around me slowed and I could observe th
e two moving while the inner two remained still, watching with impassive faces.

  Then the world sped back up to real time. I had a brief glimpse of Emily and the man with the staff clashing weapons together in a primitive display of power before I had to focus on my own attacker.

  The goon I was faced with slowed from his initial lunge about half a meter or so from me, and we began a sort of dance out of side steps to circle one another. I took the opportunity to size him up—he was shorter than the average male, with a stocky build. Short black hair aligned well with his tan. Life had not been kind to him, as depicted by the pockmarked skin on his face and the missing teeth in his mouth, visible from the way he grinned at me.

  “I’m gonna enjoy breaking you.” He leered at me, grey eyes flashing with danger.

  “You have to get over here first.” I called back, hoping that he couldn’t hear the apprehension in my voice that was so obvious to me. I didn’t know what I was doing. I had been in a few hand-to-hand scuffles before—what foster kid hadn’t? The extent of my magical fighting experience had been the past few days with Aidan. I was going to get my head kicked in.

  And then he lunged again, swinging a fist for my face.

  Adrenaline kicked in and I narrowly managed to avoid the swing, giddy for a second when I realised that it was a mere physical attack. Because maybe I could make it out of this if all I had to do was scrape and claw my way through a fight.

  Well, I lost any advantage that moment might have given me when he landed a blow to my gut, knocking the air out of me. I gasped for air, trying to pull more in and not throw up at the same time, when he caught me by the nape of my neck and boxed my ear. Stars exploded in front of my eyes and I squirmed to get away, blinded as I was.

  I hooked a leg behind his, pulling hard even as I brought up a hand to rake my uneven nails across his face. I was rewarded with a howl of pain and saw the promise of death in his eyes. My heart beat an uneven tattoo against my ribs, pumping adrenaline into my veins in the mad hope of carrying me through this encounter.

  He looked like he meant to hit me again, but we were both falling before he could do so—I had managed to trip him, but he was grasping me by the shoulders and carrying me down with him. Fuck. I tried to run the numbers on the scenario, tried to think of the logical next step, tried to give myself hope that I would land on top and scramble away.

  No such luck. He rolled during the fall, clearly more experienced than I was at this whole fighting thing, and I found myself pinned to the ground. His weight was crushing my internal organs, he didn’t do anything to alleviate the weight except wind back an arm and slug me in the face again. My eyes clenched of their own accord, desperately trying to protect themselves from the attack, and I heard the crunch of bones as pain exploded at the centre of my face. Fuck. Fuck my life. Had he just broken my nose?

  “Fuck. You.” I grunted when he yanked on my hair—a truly dirty and pointless move, I must say. An attempt to control my head, to stop me from fighting back even though I was doing a piss poor job of it at this point. I sucked in air, stiffened my neck, and slammed my head forward.

  “Fuck!” I screamed, my vision going completely black for a moment as I reeled from the pain. The goon must have had a similar reaction, because the grip on my hair had disappeared and I was treated to a stream of expletives. I followed up the attack with a sharp jab of my knee to his groin, grateful that he hadn’t had the foresight to lock down my legs with his own but had simply sprawled on top of me.

  If he wanted to fight dirty, then so could I.

  He crumpled on top of me for a moment, panting his disgusting breath into my face and robbing me of any air that I might have wanted to pull into my lungs to save myself. I thought wildly for a moment, grasping for anything that might save me.

  I wasn’t going to make it out of this if we kept going the way we were, though he seemed to be content to keep beating the shit out of me.

  Probably because he didn’t want to kill me.

  I shuddered as I remembered his words from the beginning, then mentally shook myself. I was losing valuable time.

  My eyes brightened, dangerous, as the idea came to me of its own accord. I dragged my hands up from their previously useless positions on the ground and grasped both sides of his head, covering his ears.

  “Crevone.” I whispered the word as it jumped into my mind, smiling at him. Pure delight ran through me this time as the magic hummed from within me to find escape through my fingertips—and lightning slammed into his head.

  I watched as his body shook on top of me for several long moments, probably longer than was necessary to kill him, needing to know that it was certain. Needing to know that he wouldn’t be getting back up to hurt me again. Finally, I let go of him and his head lolled back on top of me.

  And then I started screaming. I couldn’t stop, though I wanted to shut my mouth. His eyes, his eyes were leaking onto me, and he smelled like sulphur and…and charcoal, and oh Gods, his eyes were leaking onto me.

  I shoved at his body, then again, and again, until he rolled off. I was still screaming, my eyes locked onto the now empty steaming sockets. I swiped my arm over my face once…and then started to claw at my own face, desperate to get his eye gunk off me. I felt sobs start to bubble up within me and I knew that I was very close to hysteria, if I wasn’t already there.

  Does someone know when they’re hysterical?

  I had to get myself under control. Emily might be in trouble. Aidan was going to die. London was going to fall. Finn wouldn’t forgive me.

  I was a murderer.

  I slammed a mental door on the feelings running rampant inside of me, threatening to consume me, and refocussed on the task at hand.

  Scrambling to my feet, I darted my eyes around until I landed on another dead body—the man who had engaged Emily. He was bleeding from a hole in his chest, no doubt from her blade. My eyes moved quickly away from the sight, too like the death I had just brought about, until I found Emily. She had moved on to the next man. He was barely managing to avoid the swing of her blade, dodging this way and that and sending bolts of magic her way. Her face was completely unreadable, so focussed was she on her own task—there was no visible emotion for the kill she had just made or the one she was about to make.

  I had to be like Emily.

  I pulled in another breath, through my nose, and felt the flicker of liquid and the burst of pain that reminded me of the broken nose I had received. Good. Pain would focus me.

  I couldn’t locate the fourth henchman, and sent up a prayer that maybe he had realised how horrible this entire thing was and had opted to remove himself from the situation. I really hoped so.

  I don’t want to kill people. The small, pained voice inside of me whispered from behind the door I had shut on it. I tightened the mental locks on the door and forced myself to ignore it. There was no time for pity, no time for emotions like that.

  Because if I let myself feel all of it…I couldn’t. I just couldn’t do it.

  I set my gaze on the ritual circle and saw the dark-haired man within, surrounded by four bodies.

  It was then that I saw that two of the bodies were too small to be adults, too small to be in that circle…Children.

  He was sacrificing children. Rage built inside of me and I stoked the fire that went with it. Rage I could work with.

  I surged forward, my steps certain now that I had something more present to care about.

  “Stop this.” I snapped as I reached the circle, though he didn’t hear me. He was chanting in a language that I didn’t know—Christ, was I going to have to study foreign languages just to get with this Wizard programme?—and at such a volume that I suddenly doubted I’d be able to break through. “Stop!” I shouted, fists balled up again.

  His shoulders stiffened and he did indeed stop chanting at that point, and I allowed myself a point in the win column. What was I going to do with it, though?

  He turned his head to look at me over h
is shoulder, and my jaw dropped open. It was Mary’s husband. What was his name? I thought back to the receptionist at his office for a second, the sign on his door. Deacon.

  In love with a ghost, my arse. The fucker was bringing down London and his wife was worried he was cheating on her.

  I laughed. Head thrown back, manic laughter, because this situation was so fucked up and ridiculous, and I just couldn’t take it anymore.

  He didn’t seem to appreciate that much, scowling at me and standing up. “What’s so funny?”

  I didn’t want to give it away just yet. Because maybe I wasn’t going to make it out of this alive, and maybe he would, and maybe he’d take it out on his wife if he found out that she was the person who had set me after him.

  “I don’t know, maybe it’s the sight of a grown man screwing around with dead bodies. Maybe it’s the lack of sleep. Maybe it’s the person I had to kill because of you. Maybe I’m losing my goddamned mind.” I shrugged, as if I didn’t care about any of that. As if I wasn’t slowly breaking into tiny pieces on the inside.

  He tilted his head to the side, eyes narrowing at me. I didn’t get the sense of hostility from the expression though, no…it looked more like curiosity. He flicked his eyes over to the charred corpse behind me, the henchman he’d allowed fight a girl likely half his age. I wanted him to be impressed, I realised. I wanted him to think I was scary.

  Because I was shaking in my goddamned boots.

  “You have talent.” He remarked with a cool voice. “Too bad you’ve already killed someone.” His lips curled up into what might have been a smile if it didn’t make my skin crawl.

  “Too bad?” I asked before I could stop myself.

  He nodded. “Indeed. The little collection of—what do they call themselves?—Wizards, will destroy you for this. Against the rules.”

  “It was self-defence! You’re trying to burn a fucking city down.” I snapped at him.

  He shrugged. “Do you think they’ll listen to you? I highly doubt it. No, I imagine they’ll take one look at you—insane, defenceless, unremarkable, with no worthy contacts, I should think—and label you a blood lusted warlock. They’ll destroy you. Especially considering your mentor,” He kicked at Aidan, unconscious on the ground beside him, “won’t be able to defend you. Death tends to quiet people.”