by Tess Adair
Chapter Thirty
Deep in the Dark
Logan’s mind began to race. Was this deliberate, to shut me out of it?
“Did she tell you anything else?”
“As a matter of fact, she did,” said Knatt, folding his hands neatly in his lap. “In confidence, she told me that one of the other Seers had already brought up a ritual called The Binding of the Three, and that the Seers’ Council is likely to take a vote on whether to perform it.”
“And I’m probably missing that vote as we speak,” said Logan, moving over to the chair across from him and dropping into it. If she’d known about this, she obviously wouldn’t have wasted her time trying to track Atherton down in private. But that hardly mattered now. “So, what is this ritual? I’m not familiar.”
“The Binding of the Three is no small feat,” said Knatt. “It hasn’t been performed in over a century, and there’s a reason for that.”
Logan cast him a sidelong look.
“And that reason is?”
“The ritual requires four souls to participate,” he said carefully, like he was winding a narrow path. “Three to be bound, and one to bind them. It takes great strength of will to channel that much power at once, and every second the ritual lasts, the strain on the binder grows greater. Seldom few are up to the task. The last time the Order attempted it…all four souls were lost.”
Four people, dead. The Order of Shadows might consider that merely the cost of doing business, but Logan didn’t feel the same way.
Alexei seemed to agree with her. “If it’s so dangerous, why bother with it at all?” he asked from his perch at her door. “Why not just bind them separately, like they do with the Gauntlet champions?”
Knatt gave a slow, sad shake of his head.
“Hubris, mostly,” he said. “Hubris and greed.” He reached inside his tweed jacket to an inner pocket, and when his hand came back out, it carried a small red book; it looked almost like a pocket bible. He opened it and began turning through the pages. “The Binding of the Three can only be performed using one particular kind of demon as a source. Ah, here we are.” Holding the book open to a page toward the end, he showed it to Jude first, who squinted in horror and looked away, then passed it over to Logan. “It’s called a heirophid. The plural is technically heirophidil, but that fell out of common use decades ago.”
Transfixed by the image on the pocket-sized page, Logan took hold of the book. Staring back at her from the page was a creature with multiple scorpion-like legs, a misshapen head sitting atop a snake-like neck, and an unsettlingly gaping maw…
“You would have something like this in your pocket, wouldn’t you?” she said, passing it along to Alexei. “So, it’s an extra nasty demon. Why does that matter?”
“The heirophidil…extract a toll from all who come into contact with them. No summoner has ever managed to control one, and calling upon one for any kind of casting is…risky, to say the least. At best, the bound will come away changed. A little less human than they were before.”
“And at worst?”
“The last time the Binding was attempted, something went wrong,” he said, his expression turning dark. “The caster made a mistake, and the heirophid was summoned instead.” He smiled grimly. “You can see why even the Order began to think the risk was too great.”
Alexei handed Knatt his book back. “Maybe they still do. Maybe they’ll all vote against this thing.”
“Or maybe they’re about to summon a giant demon,” said Jude, looking stricken.
“It is possible Atherton could complete the ritual successfully,” said Knatt, carefully.
“I won’t hold my breath,” answered Logan. “So, another potential demon summoning. Only this time, it’s the Order doing the summoning.” She sighed, all the pieces clicking unfortunately into place. “Sounds like the Wolf has us all exactly where he wants us.”
“So it would appear.”
At that moment, they heard a knock at the door.
“Miss Logan, are you here?” called a now-familiar French-accented voice.
Logan hopped up from her chair, and in the next moment, she had opened the door to Marion Clément’s grim expression. “Hello. I heard you were looking for me.”
“I was, before,” responded Clément, somewhat dismissively. “It’s a bit late for that now. The Council has already met to discuss the Binding and put the matter to a vote.”
Behind Logan, Knatt came to his feet and stepped forward. “And what was their decision?”
Clément’s mouth narrowed in displeasure. “In one hour’s time, the High Prophet will commence with the Binding of the Three.”
Logan’s mind immediately went to the image of the heirophid. Well, how hard could it be to fight? She had no idea one way or the other, of course, but that wasn’t really the issue. The issue was how many people would die before the fight was over.
“Is there no way to prevent this course of action?” asked Knatt.
“I did not say that,” said Clément, caution in her voice. “In fact, my intention is to go to the High Prophet now and persuade him to refuse to perform the ritual.” She gave Logan a meaningful look. “Will you join me?”
Logan felt a cold smile cross her lips. “I don’t think Atherton cares much about my opinion. Why me?”
Clément furrowed her brow, giving Logan the impression that she found the truth distasteful. “It was an outsider who ultimately tipped the scales against reason. I thought perhaps another outsider might be best positioned to tip them back.”
Logan glanced over at Knatt, who met her gaze and gave a swift, almost invisible nod. “I’ll go. But Knatt’s coming with me.”
Clément inclined her head in concession. “The invitation extends to your partner.” With a quick glance at the other two in the room, she added, “And only your partner.”
Logan met Alexei’s eyes. “Would you mind staying a bit?”
Alexei threw a smirk at Jude. “Why not? I’ve babysat before.”
“Hey!”
“Perfect, let’s go,” said Logan, already rushing Clément out the door and motioning for Knatt to follow. She could deal with Jude’s reaction later; for now, she just wanted to know the kid would be as safe as she could be while she was gone. “Please, lead the way.”
Without a moment lost, Clément proceeded down the hallway, barely pausing long enough to make sure the other two could keep pace. Logan could hear Jude beginning a longer protest, but fortunately, Knatt made sure the door shut tight behind them.
Clément certainly seemed determined to waste no time, striding along at an unforgiving pace and practically whipping her way around corners. After a few sharp turns, Logan was convinced that they couldn’t possibly be heading toward Atherton’s office. Her memory wasn’t perfect, of course, but she was fairly certain they were going in the opposite direction.
After a few minutes, Clément finally slowed down by a hair, giving Logan and Knatt a chance to catch their breaths. Logan seized her chance to ask her a question without Atherton present. She wasn’t entirely certain of the correct form of address, so she took a shot in the dark.
“Excuse me—Madame Seer?”
Clément gave her a withering look.
“Yes?”
“I was just wondering…who was the outsider who tipped the scales?”
Clément’s expression grew dark. “There were a few Council members who argued heavily in favor of the Binding, most notably Seers Hardy and Rossi. Hardy is an American, of course.” Clément practically rolled her eyes. “But I would say the last straw came from a contractor named Casimir Volkov. He reminded us that if the Order were to do nothing, someone else, perhaps someone like himself, might rise up to act in our stead.” Her expression was one of disdainful, reluctant respect. “It is a clever thing, to appeal to the vanity of the powerful without letting on your intent.”
“Apparently so,” said Logan, allowing a hint of bite into the word. “So, is it Atherton’
s vanity you intend to speak to?”
“Perhaps,” said Clément. “Or perhaps simply his sense of self-preservation.”
At long last, Clément pulled out her key and opened up a new door. Logan glanced around in every direction before stepping through, but she already knew what she would find: this was not the same hallway they had gone to the last time Clément had brought her to the High Prophet’s office.
And yet, when she stepped through the now-open doorway, it was into a familiar long hallway, eerily absent of doors except for the red one. She and Knatt shared a quick skeptical glance before following Clément toward the end of it.
When they passed through the red door, they entered into relative darkness. The cavernous office had been lit by a single dim lamp in the corner. Atherton stood just beyond that, staring into the blank depths of his darkened windows. He glanced up at them; he looked like a man lost at sea.
“Marion,” he said with a tone of mild surprise. “I must admit, I didn’t expect to see you so soon.”
Clément closed the door behind them and ushered them deeper into the room.
“I hoped there might still be chance you could be talked out of this foolishness,” she answered succinctly. “Before you get yourself killed, that is.”
“To be clear,” said Logan, folding her arms over her chest, “I’m mainly here to make sure you don’t get anyone else killed. I don’t really care what happens to you.”
She was fairly certain she could feel Clément shooting daggers at her with her eyes, but she didn’t turn to find out.
“You brought the shadow summoner to plead your case,” said Atherton, sounding almost delighted. As he turned to face them, Logan saw he was holding a glass full of amber liquid. “Alas, you have all wasted the trek. The Council has voted; my course is set.”
Shaking her head, Clément took a few steps toward him. “The Binding of the Three is far too dangerous. James, you must know this will be disastrous.”
Atherton scoffed.
“I must know no such thing.” He took a deep drink from his glass. “The High Prophet serves the people, and the people have spoken.”
“Refuse to perform the ritual,” Clément insisted. “The Council cannot force your hand if you do not consent to it.”
“Can’t they?”
Logan exchanged a glance with Knatt. She knew that her only winning argument might be to point out that the Wolf had almost certainly manipulated him into this position. But that wasn’t at all what she wanted to talk to the High Prophet about. Knatt gave her only a shrug.
“Tell me, High Prophet,” she said, slowly and carefully, “was it the people you served when you called on the Mark of the Deeper Beast?”
She fixed him with an unwavering stare. She heard Clément make a small, surprised sound, but her eyes were stuck on Atherton. He met her gaze and didn’t blink. Ever so slowly, he brought his drink to his lips once more.
“Is this what you bring me, Marion?” he asked, though his eyes remained trained on Logan. “Baseless accusations from the mouths of the insolent?”
Her back as straight as a board, Clément looked from Logan to Atherton, her expression unclear. “I did not realize I was.” She narrowed her eyes at Logan. “Have you any proof, Miss Logan?”
“My proof was in the video footage you showed me.” Her right eyebrow drew upward. “Which of your own soldiers did you sacrifice, Prophet? Did you pick them based on performance, or on whom you least liked?”
“That’s enough for now,” said Atherton, his tone bored. “Get out of my office.”
“What’s the matter?” asked Logan, feeling a perverse kind of glee. “If you’ve got nothing to hide, why not just pull up your handy reel of horrors one more time?”
“I said get out of my office.”
“James, please—” Clément began.
“All of you. Get out!”
Logan didn’t need to be told again; she’d said her piece, anyway. She spun on her heel and headed back toward the eerie hallway. She didn’t care if Atherton got himself killed. She didn’t care if she’d failed to do what Clément wanted her to do. They could all go to hell.
She was halfway down the hallway before she remembered how many people were still at the Summit. The ritual would begin in less than an hour; that wasn’t nearly enough time to convince everyone to evacuate.
She was left with the same damn decision that had been haunting her from the start: wash her hands of this twisted, conniving place…or try to save the people within it.
When she got to the end of the hallway, she turned around to face Clément one last time.
“Can you get me into the room?”
For a moment, Clément looked surprised. Then her face softened. “Of course, if you are still willing.”
A cold smile lived and died on her face. “No point hanging the rest of you for one man’s crimes.” She set her jaw as she looked Clément in the eyes. “But so we’re clear…I won’t waste my breath saving him.”
Clément merely nodded.
In her small, coffin-like room, Logan tightened the strap on the sheath near her ankle. Clément would be getting her inside the room, but once there, she planned to keep hidden beneath her Order-issue black robes, on the off-chance Atherton had truly changed his mind about her being there. Though she hoped he wasn’t foolhardy enough for that, she wouldn’t put it past him.
As she saw it, the primary upside to the black robes was that she could strap her weapons on over her other clothes, shaving a few seconds off her draw time. She moved to the harness around her shoulders, which held down the double axes on her back. This particular harness was relatively new, and a bit bulkier than what she was used to. It wouldn’t have fit beneath her usual leather jacket, but under the flowing robes it would be just fine.
At least it’s black, she told herself as she finally picked the plain garment up off the bed and swung it around her shoulders. It came with a slim belt of black fabric, which she tied around her waist with a small loop at the end, so that all she would need was one swift tug to undo it. The robe had a few buttons up and down the front, but she left those alone. Her clothes underneath were the same black as the robe, so she doubted anyone would notice the difference.
Ready at last, she stepped out of her little chamber and into the main room of the suite.
Jude sat in an armchair, anxiously tugging at a piece of her own hair, while Knatt sat across from her. To the untrained eye, he was simply reading a book, but Logan saw him mouthing a few of the words to himself, which was something she’d only seen him do when he had reason to be nervous.
Alexei, meanwhile, paced back and forth behind them, looking a little like an uncommonly well-dressed expectant father, waiting outside the delivery room. When he heard her step into the room, he came to an abrupt halt and turned to stare at her. Seeing the open question in his face, she pasted on a self-assured grin, hoping he wouldn’t see how false it was.
“Well,” she said, injecting confidence, even humor, into her voice, “we all know our assignments, don’t we?”
“Stay here and be ready to flee?” asked Jude, her expression confused.
“Exactly,” answered Logan cheerfully. “Stay here. Don’t die. Run when you need to.”
“This is a shitty plan,” said Jude. “I’m not sure it even qualifies as a plan.”
“I’m open to alternate suggestions.”
Jude straightened her back and furrowed her brow, and for several seconds, she looked like she might actually come up with something to say. Then she sighed and slumped back down again.
“Fantastic,” said Logan, cheerful as ever. “Well, thanks for the input, everyone. I’ll be on my way now.”
She had just reached the front door and had her hand on the handle when Alexei materialized in front of her. He stood close, placing himself right between her and the doorway. She found herself enveloped in his scent—jasmine, with just a hint of cinnamon. She wondered if he’d put on
cologne, or if that was his natural scent.
“Can I help you?”
“Just be careful. Okay?”
“Always am.”
A pained moment of doubt crossed his face, but then it was gone. With a shake of his head, he got out of her way.
If she’d had any words of comfort that might have helped any of them, she would have offered them. But she didn’t.
Instead, she stepped out into the night and headed forth. Clément was waiting for her.
The Wolf was waiting for her, too.
Logan had barely been gone a minute when Jude felt a terrible lump of anxiety slide down her throat and fall heavily in her stomach, sitting there like a cancer ready to spread. She knew that, in theory at least, she was relatively safe. But she had no idea what Logan was heading into, and that was enough to put her off balance.
“Is everything all right, Jude?” asked Knatt, still sitting across from her.
“Yeah, I’m fine,” she said with a shake of her head. “Just wish I could get my mind off…well, everything.”
“Maybe we should all play a board game—something family-friendly,” said Alexei, now reclining leisurely on the sofa. Aiming his gaze at Jude, he added, “For the sake of the children.”
For as nervous as he had looked before, as soon as Logan had gone out the door, it was like all his tension had gone out with her. Suddenly he seemed like he didn’t have a care in the world. Jude knew it was an act, but that didn’t stop her resenting him for it.
“Oh, you want to act like we’re family now?” Her arms crossed automatically over her chest.
“Down, boy.” Alexei’s tone was acid. He plucked out a strategically placed hair coming down over his forehead and flicked it back. “Master’s gone, you can save the growl.”
“Right. I should learn to be flippant while my friend risks her life.”
“Just bringing a little levity into the situation,” he said with a shrug. “Sorry. Thought your hide was tougher than that.”
“You are such a—”
“Quiet, both of you.”
