by Elle Thorne
Marco pushed all of that aside. Or at least, he tried to.
Not successfully. Until a hand on his arm brought him up short.
He turned, a question in his eyes.
“Slow down,” Symone murmured. “We’re not going to the very bottom. There’s a fork in the stairway; we’re turning off.” She pointed.
They walked a few yards farther. He hadn’t been paying much attention to their surroundings, truth be told, but sure enough, there, against the wall, was an alcove.
He studied it. “No door?”
“No. It’s a portal.” She looked back at Alara and Jaron.
“I don’t see a portal.”
“That’s the point.” She crossed her arms. “When they catch up I’ll spin an enchantment we can all go through.”
“We are here.” Alara and Jaron came around the bend. “Sorry, did not mean to fall behind.”
“Spin an enchantment?” Marco was puzzled. “Is that another way of saying cast a spell?”
Symone smiled. “It is.”
Clearly, he wasn’t up on all this witch slang.
“Nice of you to join us,” he told Jaron with a small amount of sarcasm.
Jaron favored him with a slight smile. “Have not seen my lady in eons. I tarry when we are both in the flesh together. Apologies.”
“No problem,” Symone was quick to forgive them. “I’d be the same way.”
Marco bit back a reply, settling on goading Symone into action. “Let’s go, spell slinger. Do your thing.”
She gave him a haughty look. “Spell slinger,” she murmured. “Nice.”
He wasn’t sure if that was sarcasm or not. Turning her back on him, Alara, and Jaron, Symone faced the alcove’s back wall and raised her arms. She said something low, so low that his panther senses could not pick up the words.
Suddenly, the alcove turned into a vision of shimmering starlight.
He put his hand into the effect. It was like putting his hand into a force field of pure energy. He could feel the pulsating around his fingers and palm.
Symone turned to face them. Her face glowed with the power of the spell she cast, her eyes ablaze with a supernatural potency. She looked at him, then Alara, Jaron, and finally back on him.
“Ready?” Her voice reverberated, a mystical note that made the air about them spark. Or maybe that was her spell.
Marco nodded, still processing the development, the surge of her energy that coursed through him.
“Ready,” Alara responded.
“Ready,” Jaron echoed.
Symone stepped through. Marco waited for Alara and Jaron to enter. As soon as they were gone from his sight, and into the shimmering portal, he followed.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Not a place she was looking forward to visiting again. No way. Alone on the island that was not recorded anywhere in the human world, Symone waited patiently for the trio to follow her through. She studied the intense green foliage they would walk through to get to the bastard’s prison. She inhaled the fresh, clean air, crisp, with a measure of humidity, just enough to make her curls spring to life.
It was a paradise. It truly was the kind of rainforest island that people dreamed of vacationing on, or owning. Except that this slice of heaven was inhabited by a demon. She wasn’t alone with her thoughts for long.
“Amazing,” Alara whispered. “Beautiful. So different from my home.”
Symone cocked her head and studied the environment, trying to see it with Alara’s eyes. It really was different from that desert land that Alara had shown her.
“Nice place,” Marco said. “As nice as the island you live on.”
“Even nicer,” Alara added. “It is uncharted. That makes it so very special.” She had a gleam in her eye, as though a plan was being devised in the depths of her mind.
Symone heaved a breath. “We should go. Get this over with. Get out of here.” She kept her words clipped.
Marco studied her face. “Are you worried something will happen?”
“Nothing can. There are wards and enchantments in place to keep us safe. I simply can’t stand being in the same place as he is.”
“What’s his name?” Marco asked, tired of hearing pronouns being used.
“He refused to tell us.”
“He told no one?” Alara asked.
“Not a single one of us. Our records list him as Unnamed, as we had no name to attach to him.”
“Curious,” Jaron uttered.
Alara nodded. “Very.”
Symone started down the path, and heard their footfalls behind her on the narrow trail as they hiked single-file through the shaded area. Vivid red, pink, and yellow blooms erupted from dark green leaves. Ivy made its way up tree trunks, hiding the brown, contributing to the evergreen environment. She pushed large elephant ear leaves out of the way, holding them so they would not slap Alara in the face. Alara held them for Jaron, who in turn did the same for Marco.
A quarter of an hour later, the path ended and a clearing stood before them. In the middle of the clearing perched an ancient fortress created by carved stones. Formidable in size with moss-covered crumbling walls.
“This is it,” she whispered, frozen, waiting. Where was he?
“Hold on just a sec,” Marco’s voice was also low. “There’s no… the walls go halfway up. There’s no door in the doorway, no bars on the open windows. Hell, not even any glass.” He shook his head. “What do you mean, this is it? What’s to keep him from escaping?”
Laughter rang out—loud and raucous—disrupting the forest’s serenity.
Symone clenched her jaw against the sound, not allowing herself to cover her ears, but her hands sure were itching to fly up and serve as sound protection. She hated that laugh. She’d have been fine never hearing it again.
Warm fingers touched her, briefly, just a light touch. Marco’s fingers. She glanced at him.
“Are you going to be okay?” His voice was so low, it was as though he’d simply mouthed the words.
She nodded. “Just want to get this over with.”
Rustling in the leaves on the other side of the crumbling partial-wall pulled her attention away from Marco.
The bastard stepped forward out of the cover of the foliage.
Alara gasped.
For a brief second, the bastard’s face registered shock. “Alara.”
Alara’s lips moved for a few seconds as though she wanted to speak, but the words were stuck. Finally, she uttered one word.
“Orimith.”
Chapter Twenty-Three
“You know each other?” Marco glanced between Alara and the bastard on the other side of the half-wall.
Alara’s nod was barely perceptible.
Marco studied the being. He was tall. Taller than Marco. His eyes were dark, his skin was olive-toned but had a darkness, as though he’d been in the sun a long time. His eyes a vivid light blue. He wore robes. Not unlike what Alara and Jaron wore, but his were a deep indigo hue. Around his neck was some sort of artifact. Like a vial. It was three inches long and obsidian-colored, though it had a translucence to it. It almost looked as though it was lit from within.
How the hell was that?
“Of course, we know each other,” the man said. Dark eyes gleaming with mirth. “I’ve known Alara since she was,” he scratched his head, mockingly seemed to try to recall how long he’d known her. “Several eons, I’d say. Would you agree, Alara?”
Marco noticed that unlike Alara and Jaron, who’d never picked up the use of contractions, this guy seemed to have grasped the use of a more modern language. Almost as though he’d tried to fit into the modern world, it seemed.
The man turned his gaze toward Symone. “How are you, sweet cheeks? Find a replacement for Donald?”
Symone inhaled sharply. The sound loud when the man stopped talking.
His gaze snapped toward Marco, taking in the proximity between Marco and Symone. “Are you Donald’s replacement?”
&n
bsp; Marco stayed silent, didn’t allow nary an expression to make its way to his face.
The man raised a brow, then turned his gaze away from Marco. “Jaron. It’s good to see you. And to see you two lovebirds together.” He waved at Alara and Jaron. “Together, at last.”
They all remained silent, staring at him.
“Tsk. If you’re not going to be good company, if you’re going to remain sullen, then I’ll have to leave.” He turned his back to them. “Oh, but one more thing.” He turned back swiftly, raised a hand, and in the blink of an eye, he’d flung a series of ice bolts headed directly at them.
Marco stepped in front of Symone, his shifter speed making him nothing more than a blur of movement while Jaron grabbed Alara and pulled her down, covering her body with his.
Symone remained unmoving.
Before the bolts could travel more than a few feet, they were stopped by an invisible force that shattered them into ice flecks to drop to the ground.
Symone whispered, “The warded shields. He cannot penetrate them.”
The man let out an evil laugh. “Ah, but they didn’t know that, did they?” He laughed again, even harder, then pointed at Marco. “And what is he? That speed, what is he that he can move so swiftly?” The man’s eyes narrowed
Alara pushed off the ground and out from under Jaron, who’d leapt to cover her from danger. “Orimith. You have been sentenced to this prison for your deeds.”
“I know. I know.” His tone said this was petty stuff. “What is time to an eternal being like myself? Like you. Like Jaron. Nothing. That is what time is. Nothing. I can wait until I am no longer imprisoned.”
“Orimith.” Symone stood to her full height.
“Now you know my name,” he sneered. “After all this time, the witches will now know my name.”
“Your name is nothing, Orimith,” Symone said. “And your sentence is a life sentence. Which for you, means an eternity. You will not be released. The spell that keeps you there will keep you there forever.”
His nostrils flared in anger, his brows drew down while his countenance reddened with a barely contained fury. “We shall see.”
Alara tugged on Symone’s hand. “Can we speak in private? Away from Orimith?”
“You will not leave me,” Orimith commanded. “You came to see me. You want something from me.”
“Watch us.” Symone did an about-face and turned on her heel sharply, leading the way down the path they’d just traveled.
As they were leaving, Marco wondered why the hell they had come, if that was all they came for. Far be it from him to question, though. And so he took up the tail and followed the other three away from Orimith, who was ranting at them for not staying. Clearly, he needed an audience. Marco didn’t glance back. He wouldn’t give the bastard what he wanted.
* * *
They’d walked almost to the shimmering portal that brought them to the island when Alara said, “Stop.”
Symone turned and looked at her. “Why? I thought we were done here? Going to speak privately elsewhere?”
“Yes, but I did not mean we had to leave here. Unless Orimith can hear us here?”
“He can’t. His prison ends where that building ends.”
“It’s incredible that he can’t leave there,” Marco said.
“Witchcraft,” Symone responded. “It can be such a powerful thing. Though I was not the one involved in crafting the spell that keeps him trapped there. The Circle could not risk having me be a part of that.”
“Why?” Marco didn’t understand that one.
“Because if I were a part of creating it, I could be a part of dismantling it.”
“It’s not like you’d set him free, right?” Marco leaned against one of the trees, wiping a tiny bit of sweat from his temple.
Symone’s smile was grim. “No. I wouldn’t let him out to set him free. I’d let him out to kill him, though. At least, that’s the Circle’s fear; that I’d seek retribution.”
“Would you?” Marco raised a brow.
“The thought has crossed my mind.”
“Can’t say I blame you.”
Alara cleared her throat.
That was the moment when it occurred to Marco that when he was talking to Symone, it was as though the rest of the world peeled away and they two were the only ones that existed. It was an unsettling thought, but he couldn’t say that it bothered him greatly. He enjoyed talking to her, watching the way her lips curled into a smile, the way she touched them with the tip of her tongue when she was thinking deeply right before answering a difficult question. The way she took a deep breath before saying something that might seem untoward.
“I was hoping to discuss Orimith, preferably not to leave the island just yet, if possible,” Alara expanded on her thought. “Is there somewhere we might be able to sit and visit?”
Symone nodded. “Sure, on the other side of the island. There’s a building there. Not the same age as the dilapidated one Orimith has to spend his life in. This one was built by the first Circle Witches. The ones that found the island and its portal quite a while back.”
“Sounds like a good place to go.” Marco was ready to hear what Alara wanted to talk about. He was curious about that Orimith dude and what Alara had to say about him.
“Follow me.”
Symone led them down a path opposite in direction where Orimith was housed, down, down, at a slight slope until the sound of surf reached Marco’s ears. They stepped off the path and onto a beach. Large dark boulders erupted from a crystalline blue sea and sand the color of dark beige.
To the side, a building awaited, one composed of stone pillars. The building had no roof, and the tables and benches were carved of stone.
He scanned their surroundings. Across from the building was an amphitheater that maybe would seat fifty individuals. “No roof? An amphitheater?”
“The amphitheater is where the Witch’s Circle holds court for the cases deemed to be the most severe in the southern hemisphere. It is rare there is a need to hold court here. Orimith was the second one ever. Those who are tried here are those who will spend their time here.”
“If he was the second, where’s the first?” Marco asked.
“I do not have particulars for that case.”
Marco gave her the eye. He wasn’t sure he bought that answer, but who was he to tell her she was withholding information—especially information that did not concern him. Witch business was witch business. A shifter had no right to insert himself into witch business.
Symone turned to Alara, clearly having decided that her conversation with Marco concerning that topic was over. “Are you sure that you’d like to talk here? We can go back to the villa, relax, perhaps enjoy some refreshments, comfort, air conditioning?”
“I would prefer to discuss the matter here. In the event we might decide to act upon the information I have to impart.”
“Fine, then.” Symone nodded.
They approached the open-air building, which Marco thought resembled an archaic temple, and took a spot on the stone benches next to Symone. Jaron and Alara sat across from them.
Symone waved her fingertips as though to encourage Alara to proceed.
Alara took a deep breath. “I am unsure where to start this recounting.”
Jaron reached for her hand, squeezed her fingertips. “Orimith is a Barabin. He was one of those that imprisoned our kind—the Zimoshi.”
“Yes,” Alara agreed. “He was the chieftain’s half-brother. And he was a shaman.” She shook her head. “No, he is a shaman.”
“But—” Symone pursed her lips, confusion running rampant on her face. “How can that be? I thought the Zimoshi were the elemental types.”
“That is correct,” Alara’s tone was bitter. “He clearly has an elemental in him. But—”
“Wait just a second.” Marco knew damned well how elementals worked. He’d had one in his body for as long as he could remember. “How can there be an elemental in him that
does the stuff that he does? Your people are not evil. Your people cannot be held captive. Why doesn’t the elemental leave?” He was racking his brain trying to understand how this was happening.
Alara raised her hand to stop him. “You noticed the item around his neck?”
Symone nodded.
“Yeah,” Marco added. “The one that looked like it had a light bulb in it.”
“Yes. That is no simple artifact. An elemental—a Zimoshi—is trapped within.”
Marco did a doubletake. “What? Wha—how the hell is that possible?” His voice had raised with his anger, but he brought it back down.
Alara’s eyes hardened. “He is a Barabin shaman.”
As though that answered everything. Marco sought clarification. “That’s like a mage? Or a sorcerer or warlock or something?” Jeez, these magic creatures were too complicated. Give him a simple shifter any day of the week.
“That is correct,” Alara explained. “And he has a Zimoshi trapped in the artifact. And my belief is that he uses the Zimoshi trapped in the artifact to control the one he hosts in his body.”
Symone tucked an errant curl behind her ear with shaking hands. “How? Why can’t they just kill him?”
“I am not sure.”
“Couldn’t you ask them? Communicate? The way that you could hear Jaron’s voice in Marco at the airport?”
Marco glanced between the two women. Clearly, their earlier “girl talk” had included this tidbit of information.
“They would not answer my attempts,” Alara said. “I am certain he has threatened to hurt one if the other takes a misstep.”
Jaron traced a pattern on the stone tabletop. “I believe it is a safe assertion to state that Alara would like to save them.”
Alara nodded emphatically.
“Great. Just flippin’ great. So, got any suggestions?” Marco fought to keep the sarcasm from tainting his tone, but really, what kind of options did they have?
