by Tarah Scott
“What exact magic?”
“You’ll learn that in time.”
“In time?” I shoot back. “By not teaching us how to fight The Shadows, you leave us vulnerable.”
He sighs. “Would you have us place a grenade in a child’s hand?”
I blink. “What?”
“Power is responsibility,” he says.
“Knowing how to defend yourself is—”
“Power,” he cuts in. “Would you hand a machine gun to just anyone—even to protect themselves?”
Fury whips through me. “Is that why so many died in the last Shadow attack—because you didn’t teach them how to defend themselves?”
“You think lucid dreaming is easy?” he asks with a patience that makes me want to scream.
“That’s why you teach people,” I snap.
He studies me. “Isn’t that what we’re doing?”
“All people,” I growl.
“People who would be infected or killed within minutes?” he asks.
“Not if you teach them.”
His eyes lock with mine. “Send into battle people who aren’t capable of fighting.” I open my mouth to protest, but he cuts me off, “Do you honestly believe everyone can fight The Shadows?”
“They have a right to try.”
He shakes his head. “Do you ever think before speaking?”
Fury pools in my belly. “If I didn’t, you would be hearing what I’m thinking now.”
Amusement sparks in his eyes then vanishes. “I suppose we have to start somewhere.”
I jump to my feet. “Blood pact or no blood pact, this lesson is over.” I whirl and head for the door. I draw magic into my fingers to combat the pact. I reach the door without resistance, then look over my shoulder. “You did use magic on me earlier.”
“No.” Raith indicates the clock on the mantle. “The lesson was over five minutes ago.”
Chapter Forty-Two
BLADE
One hell of a twist
By now, Leilah has finished her first lesson with Raith and is safely back in her dorm room. I slow my walk around the side of the Administration building. Snow falls in tiny flakes. On a winter’s night in another life, such snow clung to Ciarah’s golden hair as I kissed her beneath the ancient oak tree in the garden of the castle we five shared. I startle at the realization that her favorite soap had been rose scented, the same soap she had used that night I saw her in the cigar club.
As I knew she would be, Leilah is angry with me. She thinks I should have told her that I am the one investigating her grandmother. That would have given her one more excuse not to accept the truth about Miriam. Say what she likes, but Leilah is slowly being forced to see the truth.
In all the lifetimes we’ve known her, I don’t recall committing such a grave sin against her. Then again, in all the lifetimes we’ve known her, she wasn’t once the granddaughter of a powerful white witch who turned to Shadow magic.
Fury heats my belly. A bloody white witch. Miriam saw what The Shadows did to us. How dare she think she could ally with our greatest enemy and escape detection. She’d been lucky that she blew herself up. She saved herself the public humiliation of a trial and execution.
I release a breath. I hope the damn blood pact doesn’t give Leilah an ability to see more deeply into my soul. I grimace. She would most definitely flay me alive if she could read my thoughts.
I round the rear of the Admin building and sense an angel’s presence before I catch sight of Zadkeil, standing on the path up ahead. Speak of the devil. Angels pride themselves on maintaining a heavenly image: long, flowing hair, loose robes, armor and, of course, wings. All of which are absent in Zadkeil. In jeans, a tight t-shirt, a heavy leather jacket and black boots, the angel could be the leader of a rock band. Women would go mad for him.
I squint as I approach him, then stop. “Did you cut your hair?”
His expression doesn’t alter. “You know that is forbidden.”
I shrug. “Sure looks short to me.”
With a sigh, he turns his head. His dark hair is held with a tie low on his nape.
“Ah. Your news must be important to have risked a public appearance dressed like”—I grin—“one of us.”
“It is after midnight. We are alone,” he replies. “But, yes, it is important. Your witch left quite a mess for us to deal with.”
I raise a brow. “Indeed?”
His lips compress. “The Shadow remnants you recovered from Miriam Crowe’s home represent only a fraction of The Shadows she used.”
Only a fraction? I keep my expression neutral. “What exactly does that mean?”
His expression hardens. “It means you should thank my Lord that she didn’t blow a hole large enough to take Westchester County with her on her way to Hell.”
That would be one way to get around breaking the spell that keeps the Hell Gates closed. What the bloody hell was Miriam doing with such powerful Shadow magic?
“I assume you found no trace of her?” he says.
“Not so much as a hair follicle. I had hoped you would.”
“We must discover what spells she used.”
I found no spell book in her home. That doesn’t completely surprise me. Magic was first nature to Miriam. She had more magic memorized than a dozen talented Margiddians combined. She likely memorized any magic she used and didn’t risk writing down spells. Still, I’m disturbed by the complete lack of remains. How does a witch blow herself to Kingdom Come and leave no trace?
“We cannot have her finding a way into Hell,” Zadkeil says.
“What?” I blink. “You aren’t serious in thinking she was trying to blow a hole big enough to enter Hell? That isn’t possible.”
“I never said it was possible,” Zadkeil shoots back.
But he had. Then I realize what else he’d said. “What do you mean, ‘We cannot have her finding a way into Hell?’” I stare. “You don’t believe she’s dead.” My mind races. We’d found the hole she’d blown in her basement and assumed… I narrow my eyes on Zedkeil. “What aren’t you telling me?”
“We must have the spell she cast.”
“The spell to enter Hell?” I say slowly.
He gives a curt nod.
The angel has gone mad.
“I’ve gone over that house with a microscope. There is no evidence she was trying to reach Hell.” I shake my head. “In fact, the idea is ludicrous. Which means, you have information from another source. Has your god finally involved himself?”
The god of angels has good reason for not wanting the Hell Gates open. His once-favorite son is the ruler of Hell. The longer The Morning Star stays locked inside, the less trouble Elyon has to deal with. Even if it is possible to find another way into Hell, why would Miriam Crowe, a powerful white witch, want to enter?
And why is Zadkeil so worried about the possibility of someone entering Hell? If Miriam did get into Hell—something I don’t believe for an instant—in no way does that— My thoughts freeze. If a powerful witch is inside Hell, might she be able to open the gates from that side?
The possibility is too bloody fantastical. Even if it were possible, why would a white witch want to open the Hell Gates? Another, even stranger question: if Miriam found a way into Hell, why would Zadkeil worry about how she’d done it? Why not worry about reinforcing the gate so that she can’t get out? Maybe Elyon has someone else working on that issue and tasked Zadkeil with finding out how Miriam accomplished the feat.
“You will report any new findings to me,” Zadkeil orders.
I blink snow off my eyelashes. “I thought we were partners in this investigation.”
I start to ask what evidence he’s found that leads him to believe Miriam was trying to reach Hell, but he says, “We cannot have Miriam Crowe’s magic falling into the wrong hands.”
I rein in my frustration. “Zadkeil, you’re worried over nothing. She left no trace of her magic.”
“Other than The Shadows she used,
” he hisses.
He’s angry, but there’s another note in his voice I can’t quite identify. “What does your god have to say about Miriam supposedly entering Hell?” I demand.
Zedkeil’s eyes narrow. “If He wants you to know what He is thinking, He will speak to you. For now, we need to find the spell Miriam Crowe used.”
“The spell she was using when she blew a hole into Hell,” I murmur. That small crater did almost look as if someone had drilled downward. I pin the angel with a stare. “Why doesn’t Elohim look into Hell and tell us if she’s there?” I’m not the first person to ask this question. Interestingly enough, the god of the angels has remained oddly silent on that point. “That’s right.” I snap my fingers. “Even He can’t get past the magic that sealed the Hell Gates all those centuries ago. Are you certain Senorn and Eledin weren’t goddesses themselves to have used magic so powerful that even Elohim can’t penetrate the spell?” Never mind that Senorn was a black witch. That’ll get Zedkeil’s blood pumping.
Sure enough, a righteous flame bright enough to blind a human ignites in the angel’s eyes. “How dare you speak blasphemy. Our Lord would never enter the seat of evil.”
“Even to ensure the safety of his own creation?” I counter with more heat than intended. “Maybe if he spent a little time there, he might think twice about sending to Hell anyone who doesn’t agree with him.”
Zedkeil sucks in a loud breath and his eyes go wide.
I stare. “Bloody…fucking…hell,” I breathe.
This isn’t a reconnaissance mission. This is a rescue mission.
I hold his gaze. “Elohim is locked in Hell.”
Chapter Forty-Three
LEILAH
The truth shall set you free
I have to find out what’s in Grams’ spell book. Stony is behind me a hundred per cent this time, and sits with her butt against my dorm room door. I’ve also locked the door. Why I didn’t think to do that the first time is beyond me.
“Stupid is as stupid does,” said Forest Gump. He must have been thinking of me and my time at The Academy.
A dream-like quality clouds my brain. Not surprising. No one wants to acknowledge what might be the worse truth they ever have to face.
Once again, I stand over the spell book, positioned on my desk and open to the first two pages. I grip the wand in my left hand, my cell phone in the right.
I look at Stony. “Ready?”
She snorts affirmation.
“Here goes nothing.” I tap the camera on the phone and hold it steady over the book, my thumb hovering over the button. I point the wand at the first page of the book and chant in a whisper:
Words on this one page only
For the barest of three heartbeats
Decipher me your riddles
A breeze flows across the page. The words shimmer, then slowly bleed into focus. I jam my thumb down on the camera button. The words fade and, once again, the foreign letters fill the page.
I set the wand and phone on the desk, then grab the book and stuff it beneath the blankets on the bed where Stony likes to sleeps. She won’t let anyone get near her bed.
I lower myself onto the chair. Stony’s hooves click across the floor. She reaches the bed, jumps up and drops onto the blanket and book. She watches me, her black eyes intense. We haven’t talked about it, but we both know that just looking at the words of a powerful witch’s spell has a power of its own.
I draw in a deep breath. Exhale. Then tap the image. The picture fills the screen.
I stare at the first line. This is no spell.
The power in The Shadows is unmistakable.
My heart thunders. I steady my mind, then continue.
There is no doubt they are the key I have been searching for these last ten years.
“Sweet God,” I mutter. My hand trembles so badly I nearly drop the phone.
I know God will forgive me—though everyone else will condemn me, and some would kill me if they knew the truth. I pray He is still able to help me.
The Shadows are not as difficult to control as I’d expected. That frightens me. In the end, though, does fear matter? Once I control them, nothing else will matter.
Once she controls them? Tears stream down my face. Stony jumps from the bed and nudges my leg with her snout as I read the next line.
Denique in occursum mihi Fatum meum
I stare at the Latin words. Why didn’t the spell translate the Latin? Somewhere in the far reaches of my mind, I understand. My spell only removed the spell that hid the words written on the page. Grams wrote the last sentence in Latin.
“Denique in occursum mihi Fatum meum,” I murmur aloud. My Latin is decent, but my brain struggles to focus.
Stony says something. I look at her. She blurs.
“At last I meet my destiny,” she says in piggy snorts.
I look back at the words. “Using Shadow magic is her destiny?”
Real, real, real!
The evidence against Grams is real. Blade—Ethan and Raith—are right.
I collapse into tears.
I’m vaguely aware that Stony stands over me in her natural form. The next thing I know, she lifts me in her arms and lays me on the bed. I curl into a ball as she pulls the covers over me. The bed dips and a warm body presses against my back. She rests her snout on my side and waits.
Chapter Forty-Four
LEILAH
War Games
I slept that night, though I hadn’t expected to. Emotions and the body are funny that way. They protect themselves. I dreamt, but remember only fleeting images. Thank the dream gods for small mercies. I stare at myself in the mirror that hangs on the back of my door as I tie off my one long braid and toss it over my shoulder. Had I known three days ago what I now know, I would have allowed Raith to strip me of my magic and would have left The Academy. Now, I’m bound here for six months and, every day, I must face the three men who have been telling me the truth about Grams all along.
I can never tell them about the spell book. Not that Grams deserves my loyalty. It’s just that I can’t bring myself to tell the truth. That truth leads straight back to me. If Grams can turn, then anyone can turn. Me included.
Eddy Hanks. The name bounces off the insides of my skull.
Without magic, I won’t have the power to help a scum bag like him.
All I have to do is keep my distance from The Three, become a model student for the next six months, then I—
Wait. Do I have to stay here the full six months? What if I allow Raith to strip me of my magic now? Maybe I can make a deal with the Illumina. Strip my powers, give me Grams’ house, and I’ll be out of their lives forever.
I shove aside the panic that rises. It’s possible to live without magic. Millions of people do. This is the only way. I don’t deserve to be a witch. Grams didn’t deserve to be a witch, damn her soul.
She must be in Shadow Hell now, paying the price for her betrayal.
I will live a quiet life as an average mortal.
Can I live in Grams’ house, so close to The Three?
I know right away that I can’t. I’ll have Raith strip my powers. That should please him to no end. I’ll get the house, sell it, and move to some far away warm place with lots of sun, rum and hard bodies. Even if the Illumina destroys the house—which I won’t let happen—they can’t stop me from claiming the property. I’m Grams’ only living relative. Stony and I—
Oh, God. Stony. Is Raith right? If I give up my powers, will I have to give up Stony, too? I glance in the mirror at her. She’s sprawled on her side on the bed. She’s looking at me way too intently. I tear my gaze from her and take two steps to the closet.
“The best thing about the War Games is that I get to use my swords,” I tell her. Did my voice crack a little?
I pull the leather scabbard holding the short sword from the wall, then slide the blade halfway out. I love blades. That’s probably something that should worry me, but I comfort myself with the f
act that steel, instead of fire, is my vice. I’ve known a couple fire bugs and they’re creepy. Martial arts is something I can pursue even without magic. I slide the blade back into the scabbard.
Ethan instructed us to choose two of the weapons assigned to us. I chose the short, Celtic Roman sword and a set of Japanese curved blades. Okay, so technically, that’s three blades, but the Japanese knives are a set. If Ethan argues the point, I’ll make him take one of the knives from me.
A tremor ripples through me. He would have to get damned close to try and take the blade. My insides gel when I recall the rush of security I felt when he caught me after the spear had pierced my body. I recall his face as clearly as if he were standing in front of me now. The pain in his green eyes still tears at my soul.
My mind freezes. Where the hell did that memory come from?
A loud squeal slices through my thoughts and I jar back to the present. Stony has pushed up to a sitting position on the bed and is snorting.
“Yeah, I’m okay,” I say. But I’m not okay.
Is this new memory an effect of the blood pact? I don’t care for that idea. What if The Three figure out that I have a secret? Is that possible?
I pause while slipping my belt through the leather knife sheaths. If I’m experiencing effects of the blood pact, does that mean The Three are also experiencing strange effects?
I have no choice. I have to let them strip me of my magic. I can’t chance that I will one day rationalize the use of Shadow magic. I have to dispose of Grams’ book before the temptation to read the spells grabs me. If not for the war games, I would go to Raith right now and demand he immediately strip me of my powers. But I can’t make a fuss in the middle of these damn games. I can’t be sure that Raith would strip my powers immediately, before rumor got to the Grand Witch. If she got involved, I could be in trouble. I can’t let her know I found Grams’ spell book.