The Source (Witching Savannah, Book 2) (22 page)

His words calmed me, and I found myself unconsciously mimicking his breathing. Deep, slow breaths. My heart slowed its wild beating.

“There is only one way out of here, and that is to capture the magic,” he whispered in my ear, his hot breath tickling the sensitive skin beneath it. “And there is only one way to capture the magic.” He pressed my back gently against the mirrored surface. His hands reached out and found mine, pressing our palms together, lacing our fingers. His heat consumed me, and again I felt his energy, his power, coalesce at the tip of my spine and climb its way up through me. In spite of my fear, in spite of the revulsion that the gathering had engendered in me, I felt my body give into pleasure. “Picture it, Mercy,” he said, his lips brushing against my earlobe. “See the power of this room becoming yours.”

I tried to envision the energy coming into my grasp, my control, but I sensed the hall around us changing. A sound, caught somewhere between a human moan and the buzzing of locusts, began to reverberate around the space, although only Emmet and I seemed to notice. The partiers remained blithely unaware of any change in the atmosphere. I struggled to look beyond Emmet’s shoulder. A beam of light, cold and uncomforting, bounced from one mirrored surface to the next, weaving a web around all those who were gathered here.

The beam pierced my heart with horror because it revealed that we were no longer standing in the mirrored hall, but in the hexagonal entranceway where I’d seen my mother murdered. The dome hovered over us once again, backlit in a way that attested to its presence, but lent no illumination to the space beneath it. Even though the mirrors had disappeared with the plum walls that held them, I could still see everything around us reflected from a thousand different angles. I looked forward and saw myself from behind, my arms raised and intertwined with Emmet’s.

The servants who had been purveying their stupefying substances had dragged one of the partygoers to the center of the room. The shaved head and mangled stump of an arm identified him as Ryder. The participants who had been so intertwined that they’d appeared to be a single mass of writhing flesh began to disengage, each body unknotting from the others, individuating. Some rose to their feet, others only to their knees. The most terrible of all were those who’d abandoned any pretense of humanity, rising up on all four limbs. Faces dotted with black and alien eyes turned to focus on Ryder at the center of the gathering. “His blood for their glory” came from one side of the circle that had formed around him, and then the others took up the cry, chanting it over and over again.

A symbol, like an Egyptian ankh mated with the symbol for infinity, had been carved into Ryder’s forehead. It glowed an angry red, but Ryder himself seemed indifferent to the situation unfolding around him. He knelt, too wasted to protest, too intoxicated to care what was happening. The revelers cheered as another man, naked except for a mask of Janus that covered his entire head, stepped forward and slid a knife across Ryder’s throat. His body slumped forward as it bled out. The blood defied the laws of physics, running up the walls instead of pooling at the lowest point of the room.

The dome was no longer fixed in place—it started ascending, and the staircase that led to it started to grow longer, level after level. This was no longer the room where I had seen my mother die. It was growing into a tower, and it kept growing ever more quickly, stretching higher and higher and gaining speed as it did so.

The man with the knife removed his mask and cried out. He turned to face me, his eyes entirely black except for glowing crimson dots that had replaced his pupils. I recognized him instantly. It was Joe, Ryder’s buddy. The crowd turned their attention from Ryder’s exsanguinated corpse to Emmet and me, and they began to advance on us, chanting in a language I could not understand. I screamed and struggled, trying to alert Emmet to what was occurring behind him, only to realize that he was frozen in place, trapped by the power we had tapped into as surely as you can get stuck to an electrified fence. He couldn’t move. He couldn’t speak. He couldn’t disconnect from the power that rose up through him and into me. The black magic filtered into my body, settled in around my solar plexus, and then found its prize, the point at which the line had connected its magic to mine. It had found a vulnerability in the line itself, and I had provided it with an entry point. The full gravity of absolute darkness pulled at me, its source, the power I had been so foolish to welcome into myself, the power of Tillandsia.

THIRTY-ONE

“What the hell is going on here?” Peter’s voice caused the world around me to shimmer, and then break apart. He grabbed Emmet by the shoulders, and even though Emmet was by far the larger man, he threw him onto the floor.

I was shaking, a scream still caught in my throat. The tower and its dome had vanished. We stood in the true entranceway of the house. All the other guests were gone, and the room where we stood was still very much in a state of aborted renovation.

Peter turned from me to Emmet, who had managed to sit up, although he was still obviously in a state of shock. “I asked you what the hell’s going on.”

“Peter,” I managed. “It isn’t what it looks like.”

He spun back to me, his face flushed red and a pulse visible at his right temple. Such anger burned in his eyes. “I don’t even know what it looks like, Mercy, so why don’t you tell me what you two are doing here?”

“We’re here looking for Ellen,” I said. That at least constituted part of the truth.

“And what? You thought you’d find her in his coat pocket?”

“We can explain if you’ll allow us,” Emmet said, managing to stand and regain a bit of his sense of decorum.

“You shut up before I shut you up.” Peter’s voice quivered. “What’s wrong with you?” he addressed me. “I thought we had this settled once Jackson took off, that we had decided it was going to be you and me. Now here I find you doing I don’t know what with this guy. I mean, for God’s sake, Mercy, he isn’t even real. He isn’t even a man.”

I looked at Emmet, begging him with my eyes not to retaliate with the knowledge he held about Peter. Nodding slightly, he lowered his head and stepped away. “It isn’t like that,” I said, even though my conscience took little nips at me as I said it. “You don’t understand what’s been going on.”

“Well, how about you break it down for me? Nice and slow and easy so I can get it.”

I stood there trying to find the words to say to him, to explain how my life had turned upside down and nothing at all felt like it was under my control. The words would not come. He started shaking, but I couldn’t tell if it was from rage or heartbreak. I wanted to say something, to make it right, but a movement in the corner of my eye drew my attention. I looked away from Peter to see my mother coming toward us. I reached out to Peter to get him to turn and look, but he stepped back from me.

“To hell with it,” he said and turned to leave, but in that split second, my mother appeared directly behind him and drove a blade deep into his chest. He convulsed and coughed up blood.

“There,” she addressed me. “Mama just made it an easy choice for you. That one”—she nodded toward Emmet—“looks good in a tux. This one works my last nerve.” She pushed Peter away, and he fell to the floor.

“What have you done?” I broke from my rigor and threw myself down at Peter’s side.

“That blade is made from iron, you know,” she said. “Iron through the heart is the one sure way to kill a fairy.”

I knelt next to Peter and, my hand trembling, pulled the blade from his chest. I threw it aside, and it melted in midair. Emmet tried to run to my side, but Emily raised one hand, palm out, toward him. An unseen magic flung him up and backward, pinning him to the wall. He struggled, but couldn’t release himself.

“Why?” I asked that woman, the woman who only seconds before I had still thought of as “Mama.”

“Call it ‘Plan B’ if you like,” she said and stepped toward us. She moved her foot gingerly forward and kicked Peter’s body. “Go on. I’m curious to see what you can do. There’s still a little life in him. Let’s see if you can save him. That is, if you
want
to save him.” She smiled and leered at Emmet. “Quickly now, before I change my mind.”

“I’m not Ellen. You saw what happened when I tried a healing before.”

“Yes, I did. Your efforts proved delightfully amusing.” She laughed. This had to be a nightmare. Peter couldn’t be dying next to me. My mother could not be such a monster. She read my thoughts. “Oh, baby. This
is
real. This whole night has been real. Maybe not on the plane that you’re used to, but real all the same. We came so, so close. You and your golem here, with all your beautiful power blending in with mine. It was lovely. Lovely. We came so close to completing the Babel spell. So, so close to building a tower that reaches beyond the line, all the way to the old gods. The line may keep them from coming to us, but it can’t keep us from going to them. This one”—she glared at Peter—“caused us to waste a perfectly good demon. Barron’s power has been expended, and I can’t get it back.” She delivered a savage kick to Peter’s side. “I knew you’d bring the golem rather than risk your changeling, but he still just had to show up and interrupt. It must be the magic in his fairy blood that allowed him to break the spell.” Her eyes focused on my throat, as tightly as if the look were intended to strangle me. “If you’d been wearing the locket I gave you rather than your aunt’s tatty pearls, he might not have managed it even then.”

She mocked me by pulling her lips into a pout. “That’s right. Mama put a spell on her little gift.” She shook her head as the exaggerated expression turned into a true frown. “You do have some power in you, little girl. There was enough magic in that locket to charm a normal witch into believing anything I wanted her to. You, it only made a little more amenable.”

I was an anchor. She shouldn’t have been able to charm me at all, but that was the last thing I had time to contemplate right now. I pressed my palm over the wound on Peter’s chest. Half praying, half reaching out for my own magic, I tried my best to close the hole, to will a beat back to his heart. She circled us once, as if taking a moment to consider. “All right, you are a novice, so I’ll let you have a little help. Josef,” she called into the darkness, “bring her.”

Joe entered, dragging Ellen’s naked form with him. His hands dug into my aunt’s shoulders, bruising the skin around the points of contact. He flung her to the ground next to us.

“There,” Emily said. “There’s your precious Ellen.”

Ellen lay there barely conscious. Blood from multiple needle pricks had trickled down her arm and dried. “A tenth of what’s in her could kill a platoon of regular men,” Joe said. “It’s so nice to have a toy you can’t break, no matter how hard you are on it.”

“Tick tock, tick tock, my girl,” Emily said. “It makes no difference to me if he lives or dies, but your leprechaun’s running out of time.”

“He isn’t a leprechaun.”

“And in a few moments more he won’t be anything at all.”

Ellen lay on the floor, barely able to move. She tilted her head toward me, but I wasn’t sure if she actually registered my presence, or if her effort was simply a reflex. But then she reached her hand out to me, and I took it. There shone only a glimmer of awareness in her eyes, but when our hands connected, I watched the aunt I knew and loved surface, like a swimmer breaking through the water. She inhaled sharply and let go of my hand, rolling over and pushing herself to her hands and knees. She crawled to Peter’s side, placing her right palm across his forehead and her left over the wound on his chest. She closed her eyes, and then her lips began moving in silent prayer.

As she knelt over him, as her golden light began to spread through him, I focused in on his face, that face I’d loved but taken for granted since I was a little girl. Now that I was at risk of losing him forever, I realized how much I needed him, how much I loved him. Ellen opened her eyes and looked at me. She had difficulty speaking, her mouth still dry from the drugs that had been pumping through her body. “I’ve found him,” she said. His eyes opened a crack, and he drew a breath.

“Brava. Brava, my darling.” Emily applauded. “You saved the boy.” She turned to face me. “It’s a shame you can’t do the same for that Negro of yours.”

The joy that had reached my heart ran cold. “What have you done to Mother?”

“That darky is not your mother. I am your mother.”

“No, not anymore. I guess maybe even never. What did you do to Jilo?”

Emily narrowed her eyes, leaned her head at a coquettish angle. “We dosed her.”

“You and Joe drugged her?”

“Oh no. Not Josef and I. You and I. The magic you asked her to collect for you. It had a little bit of something extra in it. Something so fine that your old ‘digger’ would never notice it,” she said and laughed. “All right, it’s true that puns are the lowest form of humor, but I couldn’t resist. Your Jilo, your ‘Mother,’ I knew she could never resist tasting the magic you sent her way, so I added a little something special just for her. She was dead within seconds of touching the power. I do hope her passing was
peaceful
.”

The word no sooner escaped her lips than a loud bang sounded on the door. Emily turned, surprised. As soon as she lost focus, out of the corner of my eye I noticed Emmet moving. He launched himself across the room and placed himself as a protective barrier between Emily and—bless his heart—Peter and Ellen.

Another bang. Emily shot a look at Joe, and he took a step toward the door, but halted in his tracks as a third bang rang out, sending a reverberation through the entire house. A final bang sent the black-and-red door bursting open with such vehemence it broke free from its frame. It spun through the air, just missing Joe’s head as it flew over him. He fell to the floor as it passed, scurrying over to Emily on his hands and knees. When he rose to stand, he positioned himself strategically behind her, letting her shield him.

“Next time you’ll open the damn door when Jilo knock.” Jilo crossed the threshold into the entranceway, her walking stick still held high. As she stood framed in the door opening, several bolts of angry lightening ripped across the sky, backlighting this fury in a purple turban, lilac floral-print housecoat, and crocheted slippers.

“You are as hard to end as the cockroach,” Emily said, crossing the room to face Jilo.

“That right, Jilo a cockroach.” Jilo lowered her cane to the floor and leaned her weight into it as she bent toward Emily. “And she be here long after you dead and gone.”

Emily raised her hand in the air, a ball of red light forming at her fingertips. She screamed in anger, hurling the ball at Jilo, who dropped her cane and opened her arms wide the instant before the power hit her. Her anguished face showed that it hurt like hell, but in a moment, her expression changed from one of pain to one of victory. She clapped her hands together, and as the energy danced on her fingertips, it transformed in color from red to royal blue. She pulled her hands apart and shot the ball right back at Emily. It hit her dead on. The smell of singed hair rose up around her, but she remained standing.

“You gonna have to do better than that if you want to take out Jilo.” The old woman cackled. Her laughter caused Emily’s face to twist with rage. “Jilo been borrowing power all her life, and now she ready to learn you a thing or two for messing with her girl.” She motioned toward the ground, and her cane popped up into the air. She grasped the stick between both hands as a delighted gleam lit up her eyes. “Come on, batter up, bitch. Let Jilo see what you got.”

Emily howled with fury and drew both hands into claws. Another ball of fire formed at her fingertips.

“Stop it,” Iris’s voice commanded as she entered the room. “Stop it.”

The fire at Emily’s fingers dissipated. Iris crossed the room, doing her best to take it all in. Oliver followed on her heels.

Iris stepped up to Emily, reaching out a hand to touch her face. In spite of the violence that had stained the room, her gesture was one of love. “We thought you were dead,” she said and tried to draw Emily into her embrace.

“Do not touch me,” she said, nearly hissing out the words.

“Emmy,” Oliver said stepping out from behind Iris. “What has happened to you? Why are you doing this?” He looked around, obviously struggling to comprehend what exactly “this” was.

“Oh, little brother, I have been liberated. Freed from the tyranny of the line.
That
is what has happened to me.” She reached out and tousled his hair. “Wouldn’t you like to taste that freedom? Move past any sense of guilt or regret? You too have suffered under the line’s yoke. You too have been exiled.” Her fingers traced down his temple to his jaw. “We two are so alike, so much more so than you and those two drab creatures. You’re not afraid of a little fire. You like having your own way. Join with me. Join with us.” She reached up with both hands, her long red-lacquered fingernails tracing down both sides of his face. She tossed her hair back and looked up into Oliver’s face, blinking her green eyes at him like an affectionate feline. She smiled and chanted, “Red Rover, Red Rover, send Oli on over.”

Oliver’s hands grabbed hers and pushed them away. “It’s true. I am one selfish peacock of a bastard. I know that, but I am nothing like you. There’s something inhuman about you now . . . maybe there always has been.”

Emily laughed. “Inhuman? Oliver, if only you knew. You’ll have to trust me that the irony is delicious.”

“It isn’t too late, Emily,” Iris said. “It isn’t too late for you to stop traveling down this path. Let us help you.”