Authors: Lisa Blackwood
Gran continued to speak, but Lillian no longer heard. Something rose within her: an alarm flaring within her mind. Lillian opened her mouth, about to say she didn’t want them to go without her when the ground shook. Nearby birds erupted into flight.
An inhuman scream split the air, high, eerie. Fast on its heels the low rumbling growl of a dire wolf joined it. The growl, too, was cut short, ending in a yelp. Like a river in a flash flood, a wave of power broke across Lillian’s skin. She grasped at the magic but it slithered between her fingers and raced away. A familiar scent lingered.
“What was that?” Lillian jerked her head in the direction the commotion emanated, then back at her grandmother.
“Jason.” Gran cried, her eyes narrowed, her features stilling. “That was a witch’s staff being shattered. The Riven have Jason.”
Such cold rage looked foreign on her grandmother’s face. Before Lillian had a chance to react, Gran was pushing her in the direction of the house.
“Go,” Gran ordered. “It’s a raid. They’re attacking the wards. Get to the house and tell the others. I’m not letting them take any more of my family.”
A protest died on Lillian’s lips. Gran was already running toward the unseen danger, unarmed. Every cell in Lillian’s body screamed to follow her grandmother, to challenge whatever had invaded her home and taken her brother, but reason prevailed. She’d need a weapon first.
She turned toward the house just as an immense black shadow skidded to a stop at her side. Gregory was on all fours, Gran’s quarterstaff clutched in his jaws. He spat it out so he could speak.
“Get on my back; I’ll take you to the house. My wards there will assure your safety. Once you’re safe, I’ll return for Vivian.”
“No! Go help my grandmother. I’m fine.”
“I can’t leave you. And I won’t take you into battle with me.” He butted her in the stomach, like he could physically herd her to safety.
Lillian gasped and stumbled a few steps before she caught her balance. “I’ll go to the house, but you need to help Gran rescue Jason. She said the Riven were attacking the wards. If they breach the defenses, I’ll be in greater danger.” While she held Gregory’s gaze in a battle of wills, three dire wolves, each carrying a sidhe on their backs, ghosted past. “If you go help Gran and the others, you’ll be protecting me too. I’ll follow your progress through our link. Please Gregory.”
More cries echoed across the meadow, now accented by the ring of metal on metal.
Gregory snarled, and pushed her toward the house once more, then he picked up the staff and bolted off in the direction Gran had run. He spread his wings as he ran; each of his bounding strides covered a vast amount of ground. Within moments, he’d overtaken the dire wolves and vanished into the distant treeline—one shadow among many.
Lillian turned and ran back to the house. She hadn’t said she’d stay there. Besides, she needed a weapon and a way to track the Riven. Somewhere hidden in the house was the perfect tool for the job. She just had to find it and coerce it into serving her.
****
The gardens outside the house were silent, the emptiness a strange contrast to the death–cries and blood–scent of battle she experienced through Gregory’s senses, where he battled over a mile distant. Lillian slowed to a walk, and with some regret shut down the flow of sensations coming from her gargoyle, but kept a light touch on their link in case he was injured.
She glanced around the gardens again, this time searching with something other than her eyes. Magic stirred, flowing out from her, seeking dangers. She sensed nothing between her and the house. Within her home, she detected a spark of magic. Another dryad? Probably, judging by the forest–scented magic. There was another source of power coming toward her.
She cocked her head as her ears strained. The drumming of hooves grew louder a few seconds before a black horse emerged from around the magnolia on the east corner of the house. Even over the distance, the pooka’s bright–yellow eyes caught her attention.
Unafraid, she held her ground as he skidded to a halt in front of her. Of all the Clan, she’d not expected to find the pooka still here. She would have pegged him as a lover of death and chaos, battle and bloodshed his sweetest joys. But then again, perhaps it somehow made sense he’d be the one to stay behind. He wanted to return to the world of magic with a desperation the other fae lacked. And since she was the pooka’s ticket home, Gregory probably didn’t have to coerce him into the role of a bodyguard. Very well. She had a use for him too. Actually … he’d fit her plan nicely. She didn’t want to risk an innocent.
“Well?” she asked, even though she could feel what was going on from the gargoyle’s thoughts. The battle was joined—he and Gran had caught up to the rearguard of the enemies. They fought back to back—holding their own, but were unable to break through the guard and go after Jason’s captors. Anger and frustration fueled Gran’s magic and she dealt blow after blow with her quarterstaff. Gregory was ruthless. Decapitating and gutting and maiming with each strike of his claws. But for every enemy they took down, more came out of the forest to continue the battle. The Riven were like the Hydra: take one head and two more came out of nowhere ready to bite.
Pooka raised his head and lipped at the breeze. “They fight well. I would bring your grandmother with me into the Magic Realm if she would come. There she could realize her full power—and a full long life. Not like these short quarter–lives the Coven experience here.”
“Now is hardly the time to think of that.”
“What else would you talk about while we await this battle’s outcome?”
“How about why we’re standing here talking instead of doing something about the enemies invading our land? You must hate having to stay behind.”
The pooka shook his head and snorted, then trotted in a half circle around her. “I don’t know what you mean.”
“Gregory commanded you to stay with me and now you can’t enjoy a ‘bit of fun.’ ”
“The gargoyle didn’t trust the single–horned fool to protect you.”
Lillian nearly grinned at the rivalry between the pooka and unicorn.
He bobbed his head, ears swinging back. “The dryads are good at misleading and confusing a trail in the forest, but they are no warriors. So I stayed to protect you—from nothing. I sense no evil nearby.”
Lillian nodded agreement, though his statement wasn’t entirely true. She sensed a great darkness very near, rearing up within her own soul now that Gregory was in danger again. Perhaps a darkness greater even than the Riven. “I don’t plan on sitting and doing nothing. Can I count on you to aid me with a little task?”
His ears swiveled forward.
“As a reward, I will take you though the Veil.” She called her magic and reached out, running a hand along his neck. His skin shuddered at her touch, but he leaned into her caress, butting his muzzle into her stomach. He tilted his head to the side as one yellow eye rolled to study her.
“To which land?”
She sighed—smart pooka. “Do you really care if it gets you away from this place?”
His tail slapped his rump and he pawed at the ground. “No,” he said at last.
“Then serve me well, because I am a Power and those under me shall be rewarded.”
He bobbed his head once more and fell in line beside her when she resumed her walk to the house. There was one other thing she still needed.
****
Lillian was closing the patio door when Kayla hurried into the kitchen.
“You’re here? Sable and the unicorn are searching of you. How did they miss you?” Kayla asked.
Lillian kept her expression remote, and hopefully a little worry colored the look. “I must have missed them.” She covered her thoughts in layers of shields to prevent the dryad from detecting the lie. Lillian had seen the other two, but had used her magic to hide from the unicorn. It worked far better than she’d expected. Unfortunately, the unicorn had bolted in the direction of the fighting and the gargoyle. He’d probable thought she’d gone to join the battle. Now she only had as long as it took the unicorn to reach Gregory to accomplish her plan. Oh well, she didn’t need long.
She’d been able to keep her true thoughts from Gregory by giving him random images of her wandering through the house, pacing and worrying with the other dryads while they awaited news. It had worked so far, but now she’d have to work fast to stay ahead of the gargoyle. If he caught her before she completed her plan, he’d get hurt.
She didn’t want to see him or anyone else get hurt because of her. Everything was her fault. But she was about to make it right.
Lillian speared Kayla with a dark look. “Where’s the demon blade? What did they do with it?”
The other dryad stopped wringing her hands and clasped them in front of her waist.
“Tell me.” Lillian laced her words with magic.
“They took it to the attic.”
Ah, her grandfather’s chest.
Lillian smiled and thanked Kayla, then reached into her mind and stole the memory of their conversation. The other dryad whimpered and slumped into a nearby chair. Lillian left Kayla behind with a muttered apology. It was better the other dryad didn’t know more about her plan. The fewer clues for Gregory to go on, the longer it would take him to realize what she was up to. She hoped. Or he might bludgeon on her mental shields until he found out. Either way would slow him a little.
Lillian continued until she came to the attic’s stairs. The air at the top was thick with dust and hot from the afternoon sun beating on the south side of the roof. She navigated the clutter on the floor, and followed the fresh tracks in the dust. Far back in the east corner of the big attic, she found the old cedar chest. Worn and discolored with time, it didn’t look like much, but it was solid. Its metal hinges and lock glistened with fresh oil. She ran a finger along the domed lid, sensing her gargoyle’s magic. The sturdy padlock would slow most mundane modes of entrance. But the faint blue shimmer that flared when she touched it was the chest’s primary means of protection.
An ancient memory flared to life. She closed her eyes and reached inward. Power welled up from within. It overflowed her body and spilled out onto the chest. Directing the magic was easier than she thought. When she judged she’d poured enough onto the lid, she imagined it digging in—digging deep, past the shimmer of blue warding, into the grain of the cedar.
Opening her eyes she looked down upon the chest and curled her fingers into a claw. Her hand still hovering above the chest, she made an upwards jerking motion. The lid issues a deep groan of strained wood as it gave way. Three chunks of old cedar planking flew out and away from her to slam into the rafts and bare walls. Silence returned after the echoes died away. Leaning forward, she glanced into the shadowed bottom of the trunk. The demon blade glittered dully.
She snatched up the dagger. Its hilt was chilled and the blade vibrated in her hand. It projected its eagerness to draw on blood and death.
“You will serve me,” she told it with a single–mindedness to matched its own.
It shivered in her hand. Its agreement, assured. There was no doubt in her mind.
Chapter Twenty
The pooka’s gait was smooth even though his speed blurred the forest into vague shadows all around Lillian. While he galloped full out, he slowed enough that sharp turns and twists in the trail didn’t throw her. She was lucky. Had he been less mindful of his rider, her meager horse skills probably would have failed her. Her grand plan of self–sacrifice would have ended then and there.
“This is far enough.” She shouted over the whistle of the wind in her ears and the thunder of his hooves.
“As you command, lady.”
When the pooka slowed, she unwound her hands from his mane. He eased into a trot, picking his way through the forest. Birds chirped, hopping through the canopy high above. A squirrel perched on a branch overhanging the trail, his tail wagging in aggravation. The peace of the forest did not sooth her. She tried to relax by drawing in deep breaths. She managed to unclench her fisted hands, but no command from her mind could loosen the tense muscles along her shoulders and lower back.
A weight at her side reminded her of her decision. The demon blade bore more than a physical weight—something dragged on her soul. Even sheathed, she could still feel its pull, its will working away at her mental shield. She knew how to fix that. Memories from another time were resurfacing with each use of magic.
Drawing the blade, she held it at eye level a moment, turning its blade this way and that, looking for the runes her memories said would be on such a blade. Oh, yes, there. Close to the hilt, two finely etched symbols. Only two.
Death. Thief.
Simple. Effective. All the demon blade needed. It had no other purpose, only to bring death by stealing life energy.
Until now.
She lowered the blade and brought its tip down against her other palm. A quick, short pull and blood gushed up to stain the blade. A brief sting, a cold drawing sensation and the demon blade began to feed. A cruel smile pulled at her lips. She let the blade drink her power for a few seconds more.
“Enough.”
Her thought rang with power. The demon spirit in the blade stilled and listened to her. Its uncertainty and curiosity came across the blood link. While she had its attention, she touched a thumb to the first rune.
Thief
.
Steal life.
The word rang with power. She touched the second rune.
Bring death.
A third rune of power burned itself into the demon blade.
And serve only me.
The dagger bucked in her hand, fighting the command, but it was no match for her power. It calmed, then turned its attention to her. Waiting. Wanting to hunt and kill.
“
Soon
.” She promised.
“But first, tell me where your brothers wait.”
It did not tell her in words or show her images as she had hoped, but it did answer her, linking with another of its kind somewhere to the north and west of her position. Like she did when she wanted to know where her gargoyle was, its magic tugged at her mind, urging her in that direction.