Coven of the Raven: box set

by Shona Husk

  Rhys kicked her foot and sword jumped into her two fingered grip as though it wanted to be held. Her skin warmed, and the doubts that had been chewing on her shrunk. She was armed and dangerous. She suppressed the smile that wanted to form. She had everything she needed to rescue Sawyer.

  The car stopped and she let go of the sword. All the doubts were back, as big as they’d been before and twice as mean. She was one person against armed thugs and a witch who could burn her alive or turn her into an ice sculpture. All she had was a sword that made her feel as though she could take on the world and win.

  But damn that was a good feeling.

  If she started talking, then maybe she could command them. The sword wanted to help her…all she had to do was use it. Feed it. She glanced at Rhys.

  Rhys got out and smoothed his jacket, crumpled from where it had been wrapped around the sword before it had been placed in the sports bag—a little less obvious to carry around that way. He motioned for her to get out, which she did, clutching the bag to her chest. Should she grab the sword again or just let it be. Her fingers curled against the synthetic bag fabric. The metal was hard beneath her hand, and while the magic was there, she couldn’t touch it and didn’t get the buzz of success.

  The man who’d driven the car followed them into the building and into the elevator. The three of them stood in silence, listening to the tinny music, some instrumental of a song that had been popular five years ago. Rhys tapped his foot to the beat as though he actually liked it. That was a worse crime than stealing a sword.

  The doors opened into a rather plush office suite. The carpet was thick and the light fittings fancy, all that was missing was a plant and a receptionist. They walked down a corridor. Silence swallowed every sound, until her heartbeat in her ears was all she could hear.

  “Where’s Sawyer?”

  “Safe,” Rhys said.

  She wasn’t. She was the expendable thief with no other skills. Cosima slipped her hand into the bag and clasped the sword. The calm wrapped around her as if there was no doubt she’d get out of this. She was in control. Her back straightened.

  Rhys stopped and looked at her. “Get your hand off the sword.”

  “Or what?” She drew it from the bag, all gleaming metal. “You going to take it off me?”

  The driver stepped toward her and she pointed the sword at him like she’d been using one for years and not about five minutes.

  “What did I say about behaving yourself?” Rhys pulled out his phone.

  “I thought you had uses for him? That you wanted him alive? I’m beginning to think you don’t know what you want, only that you want to stick it to your father.” The words tumbled off her tongue. “You want to use your magic, but he forbids it. He thinks you’re a freak.”

  The more she spoke the more she felt the magic bubble though her. She needed to keep talking and let the spell grow around her.

  “Shut up.” Rhys almost stepped toward her. “You don’t know anything. He likes magic.”

  “When he can use it. How did he use you?” Her eyes widened as she stared at him, only realizing the truth as it fell off her tongue.

  Rhys stepped back and shook his head as though trying to escape a buzzing insect. “It’s the sword making you talk.”

  She glanced down at her hand locked around the hilt. A blow came from the side, knocking the sword out of her hand. The carpet caught it. She gasped at the loss; without it she was weak and pathetic. She dropped to her knees to go after it. The driver kicked it away, then kicked her in the ribs. She fell onto her side, still trying to reach the sword. She needed…

  Wait a minute.

  That was the magic. She’d gotten caught up in the spell and said things she couldn’t possibly know, yet they were true.

  Rhys leaned over her. “I killed for the first time when I was fourteen on his orders. Boiled a man’s blood. I don’t want my father to have the sword because he’ll get worse.”

  “So just leave.” Every breath hurt. The asshole had cracked her ribs. Cosima pushed herself up so she was sitting.

  “There’s only one way to leave him and I’m not ready to go out in a bag. So while in getting the sword we were united, in what happens to it next we are at odds.”

  “He’ll kill my friends.” Her arm throbbed where he’d struck her with his gun. At least he hadn’t shot her.

  The driver picked up the sword and put it in the bag. Then waited for his next order.

  Rhys squatted a safe distance away. “No. He’ll have your friends arrested, then he’ll pick them off. I did my research on the Uncommon Raven Agency. I know about their Goddess. Where is She now? All they have is you. You put them in danger. You used them, the same way you use everyone around you.” He stood and nodded to the driver.

  The driver’s hand went to his holster.

  Before she could think it through, she launched herself at the driver, taking out his knees. He crashed to the ground. She grabbed the bag, scrambled up and ran. “Sawyer!”

  She tried doors, checking behind her as she ran. Rhys and his driver were gaining, the gun was out.

  The next door opened, and she was in a cubicle farm. She ducked low and weaved between the partitions. “Sawyer.”

  Bullets hit the partitions in front and to her left. She turned right and wove through a few more cubicles before stopping to listen and calm her breathing and heart. Cosima crawled beneath a desk and tried to think past the need to flee, the bag clutched close to her chest like a teddy bear.

  The sword…maybe it could get her to Sawyer. It did feed on witches. She grasped the handle and the now familiar rush swept through her.

  Damn she was good. She’d been shot at before, that was almost part of the job description. She could sneak in and out of anywhere and take what she wanted.

  This time she was stealing Sawyer.

  Sawyer lifted his head; sure he’d heard his name. It was followed by several gun shots that made him flinch. That gun wasn’t silenced. The one used by Bright on Sawyer’s guards had been. They were now bodies leaving stains on the cheap blue carpet. Sawyer had expected to be next but Bright had walked in and sat on the edge of the desk opposite him untroubled by death.

  Bright glanced up. “Looks like Rhys has arrived.”

  If Rhys and his father were going to have a shootout, he was activating the watch and running as far as his leg would take him. There was an elevator up here somewhere. He was sure he could make it that far.

  “Let’s hope he has the sword and your girl, otherwise you’ve wasted my time and I don’t like time wasters.”

  Sawyer was tempted to correct Bright, that it was actually his time that was being wasted. But the taste of blood was still in his mouth and at least one tooth was loose. His cheek throbbed, and he was trying his hardest to block it out and gather up enough will to make a spell without looking like he was concentrating. If he blinked too long, or stared too hard, the new thugs threatened to put a bullet through his other leg. The press of the muzzle to his knee had been very convincing.

  Bright seemed to know when a witch was being witchy. Which was inconvenient and had put a dampener on his plans for escape. The spells he’d been working on weren’t quite done and it was much harder with his eyes open and the fear of being shot again thrumming through his nerves.

  Cosima skidded around the corner and stopped when she saw him. Her mouth opened.

  He shook his head.

  But it was too late. One of the thugs grabbed her, gun to her temple.

  “It’s a trap,” Sawyer said.

  Bright slapped him over the head as he stepped past. His teeth rattled, but he kept his gaze on Cosima. Her hand was in the bag she was holding. Despite the gun at her head, she smiled, then pulled the sword free.

  The Mordred blade…looked completely ordinary. He’d stolen prettier swords. Swords with a bloodier history. Swords that were made of gold but were sharp enough to split a hair. That looked like something that could be bought
online as a cosplay prop, and not a particularly good one.

  But Cosima looked radiant. He wanted to know what the next thing she said would be. It was sure to be brilliant. He caught the thought as he leaned forward. That was the spell, working just as it should. And even knowing that, he still wanted to hear her speak.

  “I believe you’ve been looking for this.” Cosima grinned like she was having fun, even though she was one twitchy finger away from death.

  Bright held out his hand. “Give it to me.”

  She shook her head. “No. Give me my boyfriend.”

  Boyfriend? Since when were they dating? But he couldn’t think of a good reason they shouldn’t be.

  She used the sword to tap away the hand holding gun to her head. “You want to put that away before someone gets hurt.”

  A line of red appeared on the back of the guard’s hand and he did as he was told, his gaze never leaving her.

  Bright stepped closer. “I paid you good money for that sword.”

  “And you tried to kill me.” She tapped his chest with the point as though she had no fear of anyone or anything.

  Sawyer could barely look away from her, but she was being an excellent distraction. He needed to pull together enough magic to get the spells he’d made working.

  A man who must have been Rhys strolled into the room, accompanied by a man with a gun at his side. That made three guns, plus Bright and possibly Rhys. There were more bullets in the office than Sawyer, still taped to the chair, was comfortable with. But it was too soon to use the small and rushed spells he’d put together.

  Cosima still had control of the room.

  Rhys glared at his father. “Sword delivered.”

  “Yes. So, it is” Then Bright promptly ignored his son. “You want your boyfriend…I want to see if you’ve brought me the right blade. There are two witches in the room. If you kill my son, you won’t make it out of here alive. If you kill your boyfriend, you’ll have a job with me for life.”

  “Rhys said the opposite. That I was expendable and that he’d give Sawyer a job” She glanced between the men as though confused. “Are you two not working together?”

  Rhys and Bright started talking at once. Cosima smiled.

  She walked forward and held the sword out to Sawyer. “I’m not sure I deserve a second chance after last time.”

  “I think we need to stop playing with weapons.”

  “Probably, but I can’t see that happening.” She lowered the sword until it was just above his thighs. “Are you sure?” Her words were a whisper.

  There was a pull, as though all of his magic was being drawn to that spot where the sword would come to rest on his legs.

  Father and son stopped arguing.

  “You’ve made your choice,” Bright said.

  “Yes.” She held his gaze and drew in breath, holding it for a moment. And he knew her bravery was faltering. “I made my choice a long time ago…I’d just forgotten.”

  Sawyer nodded. He was as ready as he was ever going to be. He took magic from objects all the time; it was his thing. His one trick. It would suck to fuck it up when it mattered.

  Rhys pushed past his father. “Wait—”

  But it was too late. Cosima put the witch killer in Sawyer’s lap.

  Chapter 14

  Sawyer closed his eyes. The spell in the blade was a black hole that wanted to suck everything from him. His lungs burned with the effort of breathing. The spell forced its way through him like tree roots seeking food and Sawyer encouraged them, drawing them deeper.

  “He uses objects,” Rhys said, his voice a million miles away.

  “It’s killing him,” Cosima screamed.

  Was it? He could certainly pretend that it was. His breaths came in hard pants and the spell in the sword dug deeper, trying to claw out the magic in his body. But there was none for it find. He was a witch who couldn’t hold magic. He had none but what he borrowed.

  The further the spell invaded the better he could feel how it worked. It was familiar, something he could’ve made and given to another to use. There was a shape and a form…

  He gasped, unable to breathe as the spell consumed him. Then having not found any magic to take, the spell started to wind back up on itself. If he let it, he would die. But he knew how it worked and how in was put together. All he had to do was hold the spell within him, the same as when he borrowed magic from any other object.

  But this time he wouldn’t be letting it go. He’d have to hold it until he could unravel it. He didn’t have the time or knowledge to experiment at the moment.

  Every part of his being became the new home for the spell. He was the sword. But this spell was smarter than anything he’d ever made, and it had been denied the magic promised by his witch blood.

  Sawyer didn’t let go. While many of the spells he made were simple mimics of things he touched or used, this was complex and more powerful than anything he’d ever handled. But he was sure it had been made by a witch like him.

  The sword was his. The magic was his. Not because the Morrigu thought him a killer but because he was like the witch who’d created the Mordred Blade. And he was the only one who could make it safe.

  He was aware of his head lolling forward and that he’d stopped breathing. Distantly, he knew his heart was slowing. He was dying.

  But he wasn’t dead.

  There was a big difference and his Goddess worked on those edges. The magic he drew on grew in those dark places where life and death were one and the same.

  People shouted, but their words no longer mattered. He wasn’t in the abandoned office anymore.

  Cool feathers brushed against him and he stood in the field. She was there, Her black cloak concealing all of Her. Or was it feathers, and She was a raven?

  “Are you done fighting?”

  “No.” He glanced at his hands. They were streaked with green like he was full of poison.

  “Then why have you come?”

  Sawyer looked past Her. This wasn’t the field where they usually met. This one was filled with bodies of the fallen, and She was making Her selection. Was he nothing more than a body?

  He looked his hands again. The green lines tracked up his arms; they’d be everywhere as the spell tried to consume him. Was holding onto it killing him? If he let go…

  No. If he let go it would kill him. Then Bright would use the sword to kill more.

  Sawyer lifted his gaze and looked at Her. Her eyes were a dark endless void where souls were born and died at Her will. There’d been a time when he hadn’t looked to Her for help. He hadn’t known that magic needed to be safely channeled by a deity.

  But he didn’t have magic. And he wasn’t like the other Ravens.

  “There was a time when witches like you were feared because they answered to God. They behaved like demi-gods and created havoc. But like all things in nature your kind exists for a reason.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “You don’t need me to channel magic. You can reach the source.” She touched his chest and something loosened. “But you were young and careless, and Mason didn’t want you getting into trouble. I didn’t want you dying before you could undo the Mordred Blade.”

  “What did you do to me?” His heart was lighter.

  “Gave you time to learn.” She kissed his forehead. “I will still claim you when you fall…you aren’t without a protector.”

  Cosima struggled against the man holding her. She kicked and tried relaxing into a dead weight, but he expected all her tricks. Sawyer was slumped in the chair, and she wasn’t sure he was breathing. His skin was streaked with green the way Anthony’s had been.

  “Sawyer!” she called again, but he didn’t flinch. Tears tracked down her cheeks.

  He’d said he could do this. The other witches had said it was too dangerous and they’d been right. Her throat thickened as regret and despair threatened to swallow her whole. She shouldn’t have given him the sword.

  Bright snatc
hed up the Mordred Blade. He lifted the sword and assessed the straightness of the blade, aiming it at his son’s heart. “Well, after all that trouble here it is.”

  Rhys took a step back.

  Bright nodded to the man holding her and Cosima slithered to the floor as soon as she was released. She scrambled over to Sawyer and touched his arm, then his shoulder and finally his face, needing him to wake. His skin was cold as though he’d been dead for hours. She shouldn’t have trusted him, but she’d believed him and now she’d killed him. She choked on a sob.

  “I have what I came for. Kill them all,” Bright said as though ordering a sandwich.

  Cosima stood and turned. Fury bursting through her fear. “We had a deal.”

  “I don’t need thieves anymore. People will give me what I want,” Bright smiled. “Kill yourself, Cosima.”

  She gasped, but there was no compulsion to follow through with the command. Something was wrong and Bright hadn’t realized. The sword no longer gleamed; it looked old the way it had when she’d first seen it in Mallory’s cabinet.

  “Dad.” Rhys lifted both hands as though he could defend himself against bullets and the magic of the sword.

  “You betrayed me.”

  Rhys took several steps back, but one of Bright’s men was there, stopping him. “I brought you the sword and the girl.”

  “You tried to keep the sword from me.”

  “Because I knew you’d turn it on me. And I was right.” His lips twisted into a bitter grimace.

  “If you did as you were told, I wouldn’t have to.” Bright pressed the sword to into Rhys stomach. Red bloomed on his shirt, but no green.

  Rhys glanced down as though surprised that he’d been stabbed, then he looked up and smiled. He put his hand on the blade, and it glowed red then white. Bright screamed, unable to let go as his flesh melted to the metal.