Final Kill (Cain University Book 3)

by Lucy Auburn

He looks into my eyes, and I try to show him with all of my strength and belief that this is going to work. Nodding sharply, he tells the others, "Come over here. Link hands, with each other and with us. Like... like the five points of a star I guess."

  To form the shape, I have to drop Grayson's hand for a moment and put the necklace around my neck. There's a brief moment of darkness until I reach across the circle to grab Mason to my left and Wyatt across from me. Levi stands to my right, grabbing onto Mason's hand and Grayson's. One by one we reach across, out arms laid across each other, until the five points are made.

  It breaks my heart to see how empty the others' eyes are.

  They're doing this because they were forced to, not because they want to.

  But as the last hand is grasped—as Grayson grits his teeth, sets his cane aside, and completes the pentagram—something clicks into place. The walls fall down, and Grayson warns as something shifts, "They're free of my control now."

  It's no longer necessary, though. Wyatt blinks and shakes his head as if pushing the foreign influence out of it; Levi makes a relieved sound, and Mason looks horrified, no doubt because of everything he's done.

  Inside of me, my blood sings, as if everything suddenly makes sense in ways it hasn't before. There's a warmth in my chest, a glowing feeling.

  "Ellen." Mason is staring at me with wide eyes. "Where'd you get the magic necklace?"

  Chapter 14

  Glancing down, I nearly drop both of my hands to realize that the pentagram necklace is currently glowing with bright, undeniable light, emanating heat against my chest and vibrating with so much energy that it actually lifts up and floats a little. It feels like it's singing.

  Something about it seems familiar. Like an object from my dreams, given shape and weight here in the real world. As if I knew it existed before now, but only in the very back of my subconscious.

  Then Mason pulls his hands away, and the connection stutters to a stop all at once. It's tied somehow to us being Conduits. The pentagram drops against my chest, lifeless and cold.

  My Conduits, at least, are no longer looking murderous, so that's a bonus.

  "I can't believe I had that in my head," Levi says, brows furrowing. "I wanted to kill you, Ellen, I'm so sorry."

  "It wasn't your fault," I point out. "We have other things to worry about now, too."

  "Is she really stuck in that hole for good?"

  Grayson and I turn towards the bookcase together, his hand on mine. "We'll have to come back and make sure she's dead later. For now, there are other battles to fight."

  "Like the one with Brutus."

  Dropping my grip on his hand, I help Grayson get his cane back, and watch him try to pretend not to be in pain. He fails—at least, to my eyes. I know the difference it makes in his ice blue gaze when he's not being held down by his curse.

  As our hands graze and pull away, my vision stutters again, and I try to live in the moment of darkness that follows. I remind myself of everything I have that isn't sight. I can feel the weight of Grayson's eyes on me. Can hear the slight hitch of his breath as he sets the cane on the ground. The brush of his warmth near mine.

  I can even smell the hint of sweat and aftershave on him. After a long day like this, he'll no doubt be taking a hot shower once this is all over, getting the grime and blood off himself until his muscles relax, the water sluicing down his body. The picture in my mind is as vivid as sight itself.

  The urge to touch him and make it a lurid reality is overwhelming—then Penny saunters over and pricks her claws in my legs, meowing insistently in my direction. I scoop her up and wrap her around my shoulders, using her eyes again, trying to focus on the present moment. We have to find out what happened between Brutus and the Black Serpent—if either, or both, are still left standing.

  "Does anyone have any clue where they went?" I ask. "When I saw them fighting in my vision they were surrounded by fog."

  Mason offers, "Maybe Killer can track them down."

  Maybe he can. I have to give him a little confidence first, though. Today has been more than a little traumatizing for the poor stray dog. He wasn't built for this, and I don't know if I can rebuild him, have no idea if I even should.

  Reaching into the poor thing's mind, I find hallways and closed doors, twisted places and frightening memories. Hands that reached and hands that hit. Feet that kicked and voices raised in anger. The bite of a sleek black rat snake; the hunger of a belly twisting inwards on itself. And, more recently, seeing fighting and stabbing, smelling heartache and anger, as someone he thought was his friend turned on him. He turns eyes towards the big guy and trembles.

  "Killer," Wyatt says, reaching for the dog, who cringes away, "I'm s-sorry."

  He's so sad. We all are. But I can feel how Killer's sadness is more than just right now, today, in this moment. It's an open wound, like the one I had as I sat in prison, remembering places where bones parted and flesh gave way. I got over—am getting over—loving Jack and being hurt by him, but the dog doesn't know how to deal with all the fears that live in him. He can't rationalize them away.

  So I soothe them for him. I cauterize the open wounds, kneeling down to coax him towards me, radiating trust and love. He tilts his nose up to sniff at Penny's fur, and she only grumbles at him a little, batting his face away with a soft paw and sheathed claws.

  "It's okay," I tell him, palming his head with my hand, "I know you've had a very long day, and an even longer life. If you do this, it'll be the last thing I ask of you for a while. And there'll be a lot of roast beef in your future."

  He watches me with patient eyes that melt a little at the edges. Sniffing my face, his tongue flicks out and leaves a wet streak across my nose. I gag a little at the smell of his breath, but his tail is wagging now, slow and down low. He's remembering what it is to be a dog, before he was an unwanted stray, when someone human-shaped loved him.

  I can feel how badly he wants to please me. He's ready to leap into action and shake the past off. So I give him a picture in my mind: Brutus and the Black Serpent. I touch my nose, and he sniffs at the ground, looking for the scent. Standing up and stretching, Penny a solid and insistent weight around my neck, I watch Killer turn around and around in circles, trying to catch a scent.

  "You know, if he doesn't smell him, a spirit might have seen something," Grayson points out. "This place is probably haunted out the ass."

  Levi snorts. "Your ass is haunted."

  Grayson stares at him. "Do you have two brain cells to rub together, or does one of them just float in there solo?"

  "Hush," I tell them both, watching Killer gain confidence, his tail curling jauntily over his back as he buries his nose in a stream of familiar smells. "He's found a scent trail. Let's see if he can follow the scent—even fog has to smell like something."

  "I hope he forgives us for being so mean," Mason says, sounding genuinely concerned. "It wasn't really us, little guy. We'd never kick you or attack Ellen if it weren't for that terrible woman who took over our minds."

  Killer doesn't even look up from the scent trail to acknowledge Mason's words, but he does wag his tail a little like he heard them and understood their meaning. I'm starting to wonder if my pets are different from other pets—or if something about their connection to me has made them a little bit precocious.

  He leads us out into the hallway, stopping in the middle to look over his shoulder like, hey, slowass humans, hurry and catch up with me. Chuckling a little, I follow him out along with the others, trying not to think what will happen when we catch up with our targets. No matter which way things go, we have to be prepared for another fight—and I'm not even sure we really trapped Cleopatra, deep hole, stab wounds, bookcase and all. We may have just slowed her down.

  "C'mon," Grayson murmurs to Killer, "hurry up and find the fucker so we can take him down."

  "He's going as fast as he can," I defend my little stray pup, as he turns around then back again, trying to find where the trail broke.
"Fog doesn't exactly leave a straightforward scent trail."

  "You're right. I'm just frustrated."

  Mason says, "We all are. I'm just glad you're stronger than the rest of us, Grayson. If you hadn't stepped in, things could've gone very, very wrong."

  It's a sobering thought, and one I don't want to spend much time dwelling on. It was hard enough facing them with hate in their eyes and being reminded of Jack. Actually getting attacked or even killed by the men I've grown close to is unimaginable.

  Grayson says, "It wasn't just me. Ellen somehow used my abilities to wake me up. She showed me the truth while I was reading her mind. It was like she grabbed my hand and pulled me out of the prison Cleopatra put me in."

  "Huh," Levi says. "When we did that pentagram thing, I kind of felt the same sort of thing. Like I was flashing back through everything and being yanked out into reality."

  Mason and Wyatt both make noises of agreement. I feel a little prickle of something like premonition in my chest, and find myself curving my palm over the pentagram necklace, pulling it up and stuffing it into my shirt for safety.

  "We can talk about this later," I point out. "Killer is closing in on him. I can feel it."

  So can Penny. She growls low in her chest, the feeling of it vibrating the back of my neck. Her paws tense against my shoulders, her eyes watching Killer closely, guiding me through the world. The dog turns a corner, out towards the back acreage of the campus, and a ridge of hair rises on his back. He freezes with one paw in the air, stiff and wary.

  Distantly, I hear grunts, and the sound of metal hitting metal. There's a dense fog in the air, but I don't need to see through it to know what's happening within. My foresight already told me this battle would occur—I just had no idea at the time what was truly happening.

  "This is it."

  I draw the dagger I used to stab Cleopatra twice, its weight lessened without the strange necklace slotted into the handle, and around me the guys follow suit. With all our abilities and weapons at the ready, I find myself reassured that we'll get through this—though I can't help casting a look in Wyatt's direction using Penny's eyes, anxious to make sure he's okay.

  He catches me checking him out, even though I try to be subtle about it. "I'm oh... oh... fine." His stutter makes him swallow in frustration, and I graze my fingers against his hand. "I'm strong, Ellen. She didn't take that away from me."

  "Of course not," I acknowledge, pride swelling in my chest, "no one ever could."

  We can do this. The five of us—seven, counting Penny and Killer. Together we'll take my mother's killer on, no matter what form he's in, and get revenge for what he's done.

  A familiar voice interrupts my thoughts and makes me go cold all over.

  "You should listen to me and we should go, now."

  Vervaine's voice. Cleopatra's. Eyeing the guys, I stalk in the direction Killer indicated, my Conduits at my back. We make our way through the fog, relying on our hearing and instincts as much as anything. Levi takes my left hand, his footsteps falling silent; Mason takes my right, ready to create illusions at a moment's notice. Wyatt's deep breaths are like a comforting bellow at my back, and even the soft thump of Grayson's cane reminds me that I'm not alone.

  Ahead of us, in the swirling fog and smoke that's taken over the campus, two figures face off. But it's not the figures I expected—on one side is Brutus in Vincent Arizona's body, looking worse for the wear, ashen from Levi's poison attack and now sporting a long bloody slash across his face. On the other side is Cleopatra—looking very much not-stabbed and not-trapped.

  I feel like I'm in some kind of upside down universe.

  "I'm not going without a new body," Brutus argues, anger in his voice. "What's gotten into you? You afraid of a few little kids?"

  "No," she says stiffly, clenching and unclenching her left hand, a strange show of nervousness from a woman who's been overconfident and completely in control the entire time I've known her. "I'm not afraid of children."

  "Look out for me by helping me fully perform the spell to take over a new body." Brutus wipes blood off his face, and kicks something vaguely human-shaped on the ground; a groan follows, and I spot the Black Serpent's distinctive clothes. Apparently he wasn't victorious. "This piece of shit nearly took my head off, and all you can think about is turning tail and running? How unlike you. We came here to finish a job, and we're going to do that. What's wrong with you?"

  Something about the way Cleopatra's mouth turns down at the corners make a pulse of recognition push through me. There's a sense there that something is off, especially when she stiffly says, "I make it a point to always finish what I start."

  It's true, technically. In fact it's exactly true. The thing is, though, her words don't answer any of Brutus's questions or concerns—just divert them to a new topic.

  Levi is ready to go, but I squeeze his hand, wanting him to wait. We need to figure out what's going on here before we rush in. My instincts are telling me that not everything is as it seems. It's as if now that I've been blind, I can see with more than just my eyes.

  Or maybe that's complete bullshit.

  Probably it's complete bullshit.

  Until, that is, Cleopatra looks down and to her left, doing that nervous fist-clench thing again, and suddenly I realize who I'm really looking at: Eve.

  Of course. There's no way even the almighty Cleopatra could've gotten out of that pit we put her down in so quickly, especially after being stabbed. Last I checked she's not the one who can teleport—if she could have, I get the feeling we would have seen evidence of it by now. The person standing across from Brutus, trying to trick him with little pieces of the truth, must be Eve.

  A little check-in with Killer confirms it, as a shift in the breeze brings her scent our direction and he wags his tail at the woman he thinks of as gives-good-food-lady. Apparently this whole time, Eve has been sneaking him sirloin and ribeye while chastising me for feeding him rotisserie chicken and pot roast. While her illusion fooled even me for a moment, there's no way to fool a former stray's nose and stomach. I have to discourage him from running over to her and blowing her entire ruse by begging for scraps and snacks.

  In a low voice, I tell the guys, "That's Eve."

  "It is," Grayson says, sounding surprised as he no doubt uses his telepathy to check her mind. Her eyebrow twitches, and I wonder if she feels the same spider-crawling-up-her-neck sensation I've gotten every time he's been in my head. "That's an illusion."

  "Let's wait for her next move before we step in. Meanwhile... charge up. All of you. Move in close."

  Motioning sharply towards Wyatt and Grayson, I get them to each put a hand on my shoulder, so that the five of us are standing so close that I'm glad we all practice oral hygiene. I can feel the pentagram necklace vibrate beneath my shirt, activated yet again by our connection—even without the pentagram shape of our arms in formation. Something about it makes me wonder what my father was up to, because clearly it was his. Maybe when this is all over I'll ask his spirit for answers.

  "Enough of this chatting," Brutus snaps at Eve-as-Cleopatra-as-Vervaine. "We have work to do that doesn't involve bickering, and when we get home I'll get to the bottom of why you've lost your courage."

  Eve grins her teeth, and I can tell she's trying hard not to do violent things in Brutus's direction. It must be difficult to say anything at all to him, when the truth is she probably just wants to spit in his face.

  Valiantly, she manages to get out a mostly-convincing, "I'll be right here next to you, no matter what comes next."

  True enough. But the implication in her words—the lie-beneath-the-truth that she's fighting to spit out—is that she'll be next to him helping him take over a new person's body. We both know that's far from the truth, but it is literally true that she'll be standing right next to him no matter what. She'll just be doing it with a knife in her hand and the intent to slash his throat, I have no doubt.

  Brutus is looking at Eve. I wonder if he's s
tarting to see through the ruse. Just in case he is, I make sure that I'm ready, the hands that hold my Conduits gathering power that I feel deep in my bones. I can sense a wellspring of energy inside me, gathered from our five points of connection, and I wonder if I'll be able to see with my own eyes for a moment or two even after I let go of their hands.

  I still ache at what I've lost to gather so much strength and power, even as I know I've gained more than was ever taken from me.

  "I'm glad you're prepared to stand at my side, given it's what you've done for millennia," Brutus says to Eve, and I can't tell if the raspy burr in his voice is anger or a result of Levi poisoning him nearly to death. "What I need right now is to move on to my next host and maintain my all-important immortality. Thankfully, I can sense a nearby body to use. We'll take it over once and for all, using the energy of this dying man," he kicks the Black Serpent again, who this time doesn't even seem to have the stamina to moan, "and once I've added to my power we'll move on."

  A nearby body to use. My heart flips in panic at the thought of Wyatt being taken from me, again. I've only just barely started to open myself up to him—body and soul.

  I can't afford to lose one of my guys. Not now, not ever.

  As Brutus's head tilts to one side and he closes his eyes, gathering some kind of white-blue energy around his hands, I step in front of Wyatt, shifting my weight to keep the connection going. Moving Mason's hand onto my shoulder, I pour my force field into my palm and prepare to protect us—and Wyatt especially—from this coming attack.

  The power I feel, now that we're all connected, is so immense it nearly makes me feel drunk. For a moment I'm certain that I could do anything, protect anyone, move any object—even the moon itself.

  But Brutus, who I can't even think of as Vincent Arizona anymore, doesn't turn his attention to Wyatt at all. The cover of fog and the building we're sheltered against seems to have kept us from getting his attention, especially with Eve so close. As he turns towards the woods, snapping his hand out, she glances over at us—and narrows her eyes, a frown on her face. I wonder if she sees us at all.