by Addison Fox
Heading for the second floor, he drifted toward his mother’s room, the first time he’d been willing to enter it since arriving home. Would it look the same? Or had they changed it, erasing her memory with a new set of curtains and a bedspread?
Whatever he’d imagined, it didn’t prepare him for what he found in the room. Or the sucker punch of realizing that while it was different, so much of it was still the same.
The furniture still stood, old and sturdy against the wall. A large armoire that had belonged to his father and a dresser that had been his mother’s. He drifted through the room, the snake on his back blessedly immobile for once, allowing him to concentrate.
To finally focus.
Although the furniture was the same, the room had changed. There was a new bedspread, as he’d suspected, and a small crafts table stood in the corner. The pair of glasses and tattered paperback that lay on top gave no doubt the table belonged to his grandmother.
She’d managed to both preserve and renew the space and Magnus found an odd peace in that.
As he turned, he caught sight of several framed photographs on the top of the bureau. Reaching for the first, an image of him and Emerson and Veronica stared back, their Christmas stockings perched on their heads. The memory of that morning rose up to choke him.
After they’d taken the stockings off their heads, he’d taken his and Veronica’s and walked around in them, professing himself Bigfoot’s distant relative, the Christmas monster, who was going to take all their presents back to his lair.
His sisters had turned on him, combining their collective magic to force all of his presents to hover in the air, out of his reach.
It was at that moment that he’d realized just how much power they could wield and how very little of it he actually possessed himself. He placed the photo back on the dresser as the memory soured in his mind.
His mother had comforted him that day, and so many days afterward.
“My sweet boy,” she’d croon in his ear, hugging him tightly. “Your day will come. It’s all right.”
Until the one day when it wasn’t.
Abstract images flew through his mind.
The women his mother got to know after his father died. The ritual he caught her performing with them, their blood pooled on a small altar. And then that day…that last day.
He’d followed her to Riverside Park, curious after one of the women she’d gotten to know met her at the back door, a strange gleam riding her gaze.
“Magnus, you need to leave,” she pleaded, her eyes wild in her face when she discovered him hiding to watch.
“Mom? What are you doing?”
“Go home. Get inside and lock the door.”
“Answer me, Mom. What is this?”
Tears formed and fell rapidly from her eyes as she glanced back toward the circle of women, clad head to toe in black. “They’re helping me. They promised to help me.”
“Help you do what?”
“Bring him back,” she whispered, her lips trembling as a fevered hopefulness filled her gaze.
“Bring who back, Mom?” Even as he asked the question, he knew who she meant.
Knew who she longed to bring back.
“Your father.”
“You can’t. No one can.”
“They can,” she whispered fiercely, glancing back over her shoulder. “They know how.”
He tried reason once more. “It can’t be done.”
“You know it can, my sweet boy. You know,” she added on a soft whisper, her gaze growing speculative. “You understand it in ways your sisters can’t. Don’t you?”
“No.” He shook his head, but even as he said the words he felt the small stirrings of power flow through his veins.
What if?
It was in that moment—it must have been reflected in his eyes—that she leaped on him, pressing her advantage. “You know it can be done. You know it. Help me. Add your blood. It’s his blood that runs in your veins. With your help it will only be stronger. Will only call him back more firmly.”
He hesitated, knowing on some level it was wrong. But the drumbeat of power wouldn’t go away. He’d show his sisters. He could prove himself with this. Could prove he was as powerful as they were when he brought home their father and made their family whole once more.
Decision made, he followed her back to the circle. His senses heightened painfully as he drew closer, his awareness capturing seemingly everything.
The rustle of a newspaper as it skittered down the promenade.
The night air, snapping and crackling with the sounds that came out only after the sun went down.
The heavy snores of a homeless man who lay on a bench several yards away.
“You bring your son?”
“Aye. He can help us. His blood will be even more potent.”
The ritual passed in a blur.
Someone sliced an athame across his palm, drawing his blood and dropping it into the circle already created. The wind whipped around all of them, its howl increasing with each passing moment.
And then the loud, horrific cry as the darkness opened up before them.
Magnus felt it—felt the power in that moment and knew his mother hadn’t steered him wrong. In that moment, he knew she’d given him a gift by choosing him.
The darkness pulsed in front of him, dragging at him and drawing him forward. Without care for any consequence, he put one foot in front of the other, unable to resist its hypnotic pull. He felt his mother’s hand as she reached for him, but he shook it off, unable to tear his gaze from the dark.
Moving forward, he walked straight through the circle that held the portal in place.
Broke the circle that held the dark magic at bay.
Screams echoed through the night as the results of his actions became clear. The magic barely contained by the circle reached to grab them all.
And it was only when his mother screamed, pulling him away from it and throwing herself into it that the portal closed.
Closed as if it had never been.
It had received its sacrifice.
Magnus shook himself from the memory and walked swiftly from the room. He flew up the remaining stairs to gather his things, unwilling to spend any longer in the house than he needed to.
Unable to forgive himself for the sacrifice his mother had made for him.
Memories lived here and each and every one of them contributed to the reasons why he’d made his choice and taken what Eris had offered.
He walked into his room, the furniture still askew from their fight earlier. He ignored the lamp that lay broken on the floor and walked toward the duffel that still sat on the unmade bed where he’d left it. He crossed to the dresser and grabbed his toiletry kit to shove into the duffel. As he buried the Dopp kit in the travel bag, he felt his jumbled T-shirts and knew he hadn’t left them that way.
Fear skittered though him with the speed of an oncoming train and he turned over the duffel in a mad rush. Even as the clothing fell out in a heap, he knew the one thing he needed—the one thing that had the power to destroy him—was missing.
Emerson took a small sip of her wine as sharp stabs of guilt filled her. She’d been horrible earlier. Really and truly horrible to Drake.
Blaming him for Magnus and using him like he was some sort of human vibrator.
It had to stop. He deserved better than this. Add to it she’d always prided herself on being a decent person and even she knew she was better than this.
What if you just gave in and accepted that you feel something for him?
The taunt from her subconscious was unwelcome and uncomfortable and oh so tempting.
From behind her glass, she watched as Drake looked around at their assembled council of war and quickly brought everyone up to speed on what they’d discovered in Quinn’s office. His cadence was succinct and to the point, and he managed to convey a large amount of information to the group with admirable clarity.
Even so, she couldn’
t put all the pieces together. “I still don’t understand something, though. What does Eris have to do with my brother?”
“She turned him.”
“Turned him?” Emerson shook her head. “What? Like he’s a vampire?”
Quinn took over at that point. “We believe he’s been given the same powers that Themis bestowed on all of us.”
“Why? Why him?”
“We don’t know.” Drake reached for her hand. “We don’t know why he was chosen, but he’s her weapon.”
“And this apple?”
“Remember Snow White?” Ilsa interjected.
Emerson was skeptical, but reluctantly intrigued. “Fairy tales?”
“The Apple of Discord. It forms the basis of the witch’s behavior in Snow White. Who’s the fairest of them all? The apple that Snow White eats.”
The pieces made an odd sort of sense, but it was Ilsa’s final explanation that put it all together. “People believe the apple is a fairy tale and it was adapted for the movie.”
“It’s not a fairy tale,” Quinn cautioned. “It’s quite real, in fact. The Apple of Discord has been Eris’s favorite weapon since the Trojan War. It—and the Judgment of Paris—is how she started the whole thing.”
Apples and Warriors? Emerson knew there were many things in this life people couldn’t reason or understand. Hell, she’d spent her life being the subject of that very thing. But it still didn’t explain how her brother could be an immortal.
“Even if Magnus is a Warrior like you say, what’s the connection with the apple?”
“That’s where Grey’s lawyer came in.” Quinn filled in the gaps. “The apple pin that was on Gavelli’s suit jacket is the Apple of Discord.”
Emerson finally saw how the various pieces fit. “So you think Eris is using the apple to divert attention off of the real game, which is my brother.”
“That’s exactly what we think,” Quinn added. “Especially since there’s no real reason for her to get into the morass of human politics. The mobsters can manage strife and discord quite well on their own. Her stepping in with the added force of her power can only escalate an existing problem.”
“Oh, there’s a reason.” Rogan spoke for the first time. “She’s after us.”
“Sure she is, Rogan. We’ve known that since she showed up on my father’s boat last fall.” Montana rubbed her arms in what Emerson considered a very cold remembrance. “She’s the one who held me below deck.”
“Yes, but it’s more urgent than that. She received a text from Magnus earlier today that specifically mentioned the Pisces.”
Whatever leeway she wanted to give her brother, Emerson felt it evaporate with Rogan’s words. “Today? You intercepted a text from Eris today?”
“I did.” Rogan nodded. “When I was with her earlier in our hotel room.”
The kitchen erupted as everyone understood the import of Rogan’s words. Questions, shouts and accusations crisscrossed the room in a heated debate of words and emotions. Drake wanted to stay above it—wanted to believe in the sanctity of his friendship with Rogan—but this was too much to believe.
To his credit, Rogan took it all, his stoic features never changing, until Montana’s quietly spoken words crumbled his visage. “Why her?”
“I’ve asked myself that a million times and, believe me, I’ve tried to leave her alone.”
“She’s manipulated you in some way,” Quinn shot back. “That’s her job, Rogan.”
“You don’t think I’ve thought of that? Especially since it’s my job not to be manipulated by members of the pantheon.”
“Quinn.” Montana laid a hand on his forearm.
“No, Montana.” Rogan shook his head. “Let him say what he wants. I take responsibility for all of it. But I don’t think she’s manipulated me. Not when it comes to this.”
Although he didn’t want to see it in the same light, Drake couldn’t fully fault Rogan for his actions. He knew what it was to need a woman. To need so blindly you kept making a choice over and over.
Even if it wasn’t the right one.
He felt her before he saw her, as Emerson slid up beside him and reached for his hand. As their fingers linked, he thought again about what Rogan had unsuccessfully tried to resist.
The alarm sounded off, echoing through the kitchen in great, gonging waves. It broke the clutter of his thoughts as everyone leaped into action, Quinn hollering out details. “It’s a breach. Magnus.”
Emerson’s tight grip on his hand had Drake considering a port out of the kitchen until the fierce whisper hissed in his ear. “You try to get me out of here and I’ll cut your balls off. This is about my brother and I’m not leaving and I’m not backing down.”
“Don’t push me, sweetheart.”
An immediate flash of fire rose up in her hand as she lobbed it into the air. “Drake, don’t do this to me. Don’t make me choose. This is my family we’re talking about. I know how to take care of myself.” The words were on his lips, nearly spilling out when the harsh set of her eyes turned pleading. “I have to be a part of this.”
“I can’t let something happen to you.”
“I’m tougher than I look, Ace.” She squeezed his fingers before leaning in and pressing a hard kiss to his lips. “Have a little faith in me.”
Maybe that was what it all came down to, Drake had to admit. He moved into battle position with his family. They all lined up, ready meet the threat as it breached their home.
Together.
Quinn punched in a few keys on one of his endless array of handheld devices. “He’s in the foyer. The cameras haven’t picked up a snake yet, but we know it’s in his aura. The fact it’s not out likely means he’s developing more control over it, so watch yourselves.”
Emerson’s grip tightened on his arm at Quinn’s words, but other than that, she said nothing.
“On my mark, we move into the dining room and line up. He should be far enough down the east hallway to let us get into position. Keep the wall at your back.” Quinn kept his gaze focused on the device. “And…now!”
Once they were in position in the dining room, Drake shifted Emerson behind him. “I don’t want you trapped, but I don’t want you easily exposed either. If you need to, crawl back to the kitchen and hide in the basement, locking the door from the inside.”
“I’m not leaving you.”
Gods, but she could give Quinn a run for his money when it came to stubborn and pigheaded. Forcing the calm he really didn’t feel, Drake pushed every ounce of reason into his voice he could gather up. “I get that, but we don’t know what sort of power he’s got, Emerson. The snake is a huge variable and possibly a big advantage. I need to know you’ll do the right thing. I need to know you’ll be safe.”
“And damn it, Drake, I need to know you’ll be safe. My magic can heal.”
He forced bravado into his tone, desperate to get her to leave. “I heal pretty fine all by myself.”
That small frame stood still—immovable—as she stared up at him. “You don’t know if you’d have healed from the poison of the snakebite.” He opened his mouth to protest, but she placed a finger on his lips. “But with my magic, you did heal.”
He pressed a kiss to her finger. “Please, Emerson. Please go.”
Drake saw the hesitation—saw the unwillingness to acquiesce—before something changed. An awareness, really, that lit up her eyes with an understanding he’d never seen before. She reached up on her toes and pressed her lips to his cheek, just below his ear. With a whisper, she added, “I’ll do it for you, if it comes to that. But trust me that I can make the right judgment if I’m called to.”
It was enough. It had to be.
Then there were no more promises or what ifs or maybes as Magnus Carano came down the hallway and into the dining room on a heavy war cry.
Emerson felt the wall pressed to her back as a wall of Warriors stood in a battle phalanx to her front. Aside from their sheer numbers, the set of their bodies and
easy familiarity with one another was clearly to their advantage. Ignoring the fact there was a China cabinet on the far side of the room and a table long enough to seat twenty, she could easily envision them on a battlefield.
Her brother materialized in the doorway, and she fought the words forming on her lips. No matter how badly she wanted to drag him aside and demand answers, she needed to let this play out.
“I’m not here for a fight.” Magnus’s voice quavered slightly and she was reminded of the games they’d played as children. He hated to lose, no matter the game. From Red Rover to Monopoly, that same quaver would alight in his voice the moment he knew he was at a disadvantage. “I want what you stole from me.”
Although this was the Warriors’ show, she simply couldn’t keep quiet. Couldn’t lose the opportunity to get some answers. “Why do you want the book, Magnus?”
His dark eyes widened in surprise as he realized she stood behind the line of Warriors. “Em?”
“It’s me. And I want to know why you want the book. It looks like a diary of some sort, and since it’s written in Greek, it’s most certainly not yours.”
“It belongs to me.”
“Are you sure about that?” Drake interrupted.
“It’s mine.” That quaver was back. It matched the sudden agitation in his body as he shifted from foot to foot.
“Please answer the question, Magnus. Why do you want it?”
Whatever fear drove him erupted as he screamed, “Give me the goddamn book!”
Although she had a clear view of her brother, Drake blocked her, his shoulders set in a stiff line as he faced Magnus. She reached out a hand and settled it against his lower back, the simple touch and the warmth of his body going a long way toward reassuring her.
When had her brother’s life gone so wrong? How had they missed the signs and why couldn’t they have done something before it was too late? Before it had gotten to…this.
“I think you need to leave, Magnus.” Even as she said the words, she knew it wouldn’t be that simple.
“Give me what I’ve asked for and I’ll go. I’ll walk out that door and you’ll never see my miserable face again. I’ll make it right with Eris and make her leave you alone. Leave you all alone.”