A Wicked Power
The Shadow Sorceress Book 7
Bilinda Sheehan
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Copyright © 2019 by Bilinda Sheehan
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
Created with Vellum
Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
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1
Standing at the back of the crowd that was gathered around the open grave, I listened as the final words were spoken over Graham’s casket.
I could have moved through the crowd and taken my place near the front with the other members of the Elite but no matter how much I wished to lift my foot and take the first step, I just couldn’t bring myself to do it.
I didn’t belong here. Not when I was the reason Graham was dead.
That wasn’t strictly true of course; I hadn’t murdered him in cold blood. No, that had been the delightful work of my father. Not that I could prove it.
But I didn’t need to. I knew he was the one responsible.
And that knowledge caused a deep enduring ache that reverberated through my chest.
Life was getting more complicated by the second.
The poignant squeak of the winch that lowered Graham into the ground was drowned out by the sound of music. It was better that way. Listening to the sound of a coffin being lowered into the cold earth was too lonely a sound to suffer.
A hand clasped my shoulder and I stiffened, the response automatic. Turning, I came face to face with Nic—or at least face to chest. Tilting my head up, I met his unwavering gaze.
“I thought you’d be up there with the others.” His voice was gentle.
“I couldn’t face it,” I said. “Every time I’m around them, I feel the weight of their accusations.”
“You don’t think they believe you’re responsible for his death, do you?”
I shrugged. I had no way of knowing for certain if the others thought I was responsible for or not but I knew of at least one member of the Elite who was convinced I was to blame.
As I thought of Jon, I twisted my neck and found him there at the head of the crowd—hands clasped in front of his body as though deep in prayer. It was the kind of thing he was good at—blending in—pretending he was just like everyone else and that his grief was as legitimate as theirs. It was a lie. There had been no love lost between him and Graham. Part of me even wondered if Jon was secretly happy that Graham was dead. It had certainly bolstered his flagging career.
I dragged my gaze away. He hadn’t seen me yet—thankfully—but he would find me if I hung around here.
“We should go,” I said, as the prayers came to an end and the mourners began to break up.
“You have every right to be here, Amber,” Nic murmured against my hair.
It was strange to feel his arms around me. We hadn’t spoken about the events in Fortune. Nor had he mentioned Alastor. He was treating the entire thing as though it hadn’t happened at all. Which we both knew wasn’t true. We would have to talk about it at some point. But even with his arms securely wrapped around my waist, I still felt as though there was a wall between us. An emotional barrier that kept us apart, despite the proximity of our bodies.
“Just because I have the right doesn’t mean I should exercise it.” I slipped free of his hold and started to pick my way through the cemetery.
Nic fell silently into step next to me but his unspoken questions buzzed around me like flies on a corpse.
“Just say it,” I said, quietly.
“What?” He raised his face, surprise twisting his expression.
“Whatever it is that’s eating at you,” I said. “I can feel it. And you not spitting it out is worse than anything else.”
“I just—”
“Amber, just the woman I wanted to see.” Jon’s interruption set my teeth on edge. I paused at the gateway and turned to see him hurrying through the graves. Rather than choosing to go around them, he walked straight over them as though the people buried beneath the ground were somehow undeserving of his respect.
“What can I do for you, Jon?” I balled my hands into fists at my sides and sucked a deep breath in through my nose in an attempt to quell my rising temper.
The rage was always there now. Lurking just beneath the surface of my skin—or so it seemed—ever since I’d agreed to tie myself to Alastor. As though his very nature was slowly seeping into me, tainting who I was.
“Well now that the funeral is over and done with, I think it’s high time you and I had a bit of a sit-down chat. Don’t you?”
“What about?”
I already had a pretty good idea about what Jon wanted to talk to me about. He knew what I was. Or if he didn’t know exactly what I was, he had a damn good idea. All he lacked was the proof to put me down for good.
“For a start, your future at the Elite.”
Shock rooted me to the spot. “What about my future?”
“Well, that’s for a private discussion. We don’t want to go airing dirty laundry out here in the open. It wouldn’t help anyone.”
“Perhaps you should—” Nic took a menacing step forward. I placed a placating hand on his arm, cutting him off mid-sentence.
“What was that, Nicholas?” Jon’s smile was vicious.
I squeezed Nic’s arm and shook my head as he glanced back at me. As satisfying as it would be to watch Nic lay Jon out across the graves he’d so carelessly trodden over, I couldn’t let him do that, not on my behalf anyway. Jon was goading him, that much was clear, and I wouldn’t let Nic wade into a battle that wasn’t his to wage.
“When do you want to see me?”
“Tomorrow morning, nine am sharp should be just fine.”
Drawing in a deep breath, I nodded. “Fine. I’ll see you then.”
Jon’s smiled beatifically at us both and strode past me. His shoulder jostled mine, knocking me into Nic’s solid body.
Jon halted in the gateway of the cemetery and surveyed the mourners as they trooped past him.
“It’s a shame Graham didn’t take my advice. Perhaps if he hadn’t put his misguided trust in the wrong people he would still be alive. Don’t you think?”
Rage washed through me, sliding up from my chest and into my throat like lava. It took everything in my power not to turn on Jon then and there. But that was what he wanted me to do, what he expected of me. And if I turned on him, he would simply use it as another
stick to beat me with.
“Nine a.m,” I said tightly, frustration weighing me down as I struggled to keep my voice neutral.
The curve of Jon’s smile told me I’d failed at even that small task.
He disappeared into the growing crowd.
“That insufferable bastard,” I said, only half beneath my breath.
Nic caught my elbow and tugged me into the shade of a tall weeping willow, out of the view of prying eyes.
“Amber, your hand,” he said, clasping my arm gently. He lifted my hand into the light and tenderly unfurled my fingers, revealing half-moon indentations dotted with crimson blood across my palms.
“You should have let me knock him on his insufferable ass,” he said, the ghost of a smile hovering on his lips.
Taking back my hand, I tried to return his smile with one of my own but my lips refused to cooperate and I ended up grimacing at him instead.
“I’m sorry,” he said. “I shouldn’t be making jokes right now.”
I shook my head. “It’s fine. I appreciate the effort.” I dropped my gaze to the grass beneath my feet. “I’m just tired.”
“You’re still not sleeping?”
“No.” I sighed. Every time I closed my eyes, my mind decided to replay my foolish attempt at resurrecting Graham—with one important difference. When dream Graham wrapped his hands around my throat and began to choke the life from me, his face changed, shifting and reshaping until it was no longer Graham poised above me but my father.
I raised my hand to my throat and brushed my fingers against my skin. I’d long since healed—the benefit of striking a deal with a literal demon—but as I rubbed my finger over the spot where Graham’s nails had dug into my flesh it was as though I could still feel the wounds.
“You don’t have to worry about Graham coming back,” Nic said. “Jason dealt with the body.”
When Nic said they’d ‘dealt with the body’, what he really meant was they’d salted the corpse and anointed it in holy oils from the Saga Venatione before burning him.
“So all that’s in the casket is a pile of ashes?” It was strange to think of Graham—the vitally alive man that he had been—reduced to nothing more than a pile of ash.
Nic ducked his head, as though he couldn’t meet my gaze and it set alarm bells off in my head.
“Nic, what the hell did they just bury?”
“Nothing.”
I stared at him. Had I heard him correctly? Had he really just informed me there was nothing in the casket?
“Excuse me?”
“They couldn’t risk putting anything in the casket,” he said. “Jason is having it sent back to the Vatican.”
“I don’t understand. You said yourself that they dealt with the body. Why would they need to send his ashes back to the Vatican?”
“I should get you home,” Nic said, changing the subject. “It looks like it’s going to rain.”
“Don’t you dare fob me off,” I said. “Tell me what the Vatican could possibly want with Graham’s ashes.”
Nic glanced up at me, his expression unreadable. “Amber, there are no ashes.”
I took a step backwards and almost tipped myself over the curb. “You said he was dealt with. There have to be ashes, otherwise…”
Nic shook his head and glanced in the direction of the cemetery caretakers who were at that moment rolling up the fake ever-green grass they’d laid out around Graham’s grave.
“They burned the body. Jason dealt with it personally; he still has that much power at least.” Nic said the last part with a significant amount of bitterness. Whatever Jon had told the Elite about the Saga Venatione had severely curtailed their freedom in terms of ongoing investigations.
“But the body wouldn’t burn.”
I sucked a sharp breath in through my teeth. “You’re not making any sense.”
“I’m not sure what else I can say, Amber. Jason tried to burn the body but it wouldn’t burn.”
“And the oil? Did that burn?”
Nic nodded. “Of course the oil burned, it’s oil. But once the fire went out, the body was left intact.”
A pit opened up in the middle of my stomach and my heart dropped into it.
“Why wouldn’t it burn?”
Nic shrugged. “There are a few possibilities,” he said.
“And they are?”
“You’re not going to like them. Maybe we should just forget about it and—”
“Nic, for Christ’s sake, tell me already.”
“Fine. There have been cases of reanimation that resulted in an inability to destroy the corpse even after the entity that had inhabited the body departed.” He sighed.
“You mean demonic possessions.”
“Yeah.” His expression was grave. “And they haven’t seen anything like it since the Shadow Sorcerers died out. Nobody alive has ever seen this kind of phenomenon.”
“Shit,” I said.
“Yeah. That’s what I said too.”
“What will they do with him now?”
“Honestly, I don’t know.” Nic pushed his hands back through his hair.
“Could he—” I cut off, unsure of what I was asking him.
“Could he come back to life?” Nic finished for me.
Swallowing hard, I nodded. “Yeah, could he reanimate?”
“Your guess is as good as mine on all of this. It’s so far above my pay-grade. The only reason I know as much as I do is because they want me to escort the body.”
For one terrible second the ground rolled beneath my feet.
“You’re leaving?”
“It’s not forever. I’ll be a couple of days. A week max.”
I could already feel the loss of him; an empty void that swelled in the centre of my chest.
“When were you going to tell me?”
“Tonight,” he said.
“And when do you leave?”
He looked away and I knew the answer without him even having to open his mouth.
“You’re going tonight?”
“I have to, Amber. This is important.”
“I know that,” I said, turning away to pace back and forth on the path. The sound of an engine roaring to life dragged me back from the precipice of my thoughts and I paused my pacing long enough to watch the large yellow digger amble toward the pile of dirt next to Graham’s grave.
“It was bad enough thinking he was going to be in there, lying beneath all that dirt. But...” I trailed off. I wouldn’t even be able to visit his grave. It would be nothing but a marker. I had taken even that from him with my stupidity and arrogance.
“I’ll take good care of him. I promise.”
Nic would look after Graham. I didn’t doubt him for a second.
Nic continued to speak. “Listen, there’s something else I need to talk to you about. Something—”
But I cut him off, my thoughts spiraling dangerously out of control. What would happen to Nic when he got to the Vatican?
I paused in front of him. “Is doing this going to put you in danger?”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean, are they going to find out about what you did to save me?”
“Not unless I tell them and I’m not going to do that.” He cupped my face with his hands and tilted it up to his. “Amber, I’ll be fine and I’ll be back before you know it.”
Swallowing back the unease that was slowly growing in the pit of my stomach, I nodded. “Okay. I just, I worry, you know?”
He smiled. “It’s kind of nice.”
“What, my worrying about your ass is nice?”
He grinned. “Well come on, a guy has to get affection wherever he can.”
I raised my fist to punch him in the arm but Nic caught my hand easily and tugged me closer.
“What did you want to talk to me about?”
A flicker of unease passed through Nic’s eyes but it was gone as quickly as it had arrived.
“How about we go back to yours an
d spend some time together before tonight? We can talk there.” A promise of things to come was held in his eyes. He brushed his thumb over my skin and my senses were heightened by the connection between us.
Heat coiled in the pit of my stomach, chasing away the unease I’d felt just moments before.
Without thinking, I pushed up onto my tiptoes and pressed my lips to his. His heat seared into me as he returned my embrace with a passion that threatened to steal any rational thought I might have had in my mind.
The first raindrops fell from the sky, splashing onto my feverish skin.
Nic broke away first, laughing as he dragged me further beneath the tree and out of the sudden deluge.
“I told you it was going to rain,” he said, the warmth of his smile lighting up his face so that one of his dimples appeared. “You see, there are some things I know.”
As the rain began to fall harder and faster, I let him hold me beneath the tree and I found myself wishing I could believe him. But the unease I’d thought had fled was still there.
What if he was wrong?
2
Standing at the back of the crowd that was gathered around the open grave, I listened as the final words were spoken over Graham’s casket.
I could have moved through the crowd and taken my place near the front with the other members of the Elite but no matter how much I wished to lift my foot and take the first step, I just couldn’t bring myself to do it.
I didn’t belong here. Not when I was the reason Graham was dead.
That wasn’t strictly true of course; I hadn’t murdered him in cold blood. No, that had been the delightful work of my father. Not that I could prove it.
A Wicked Power Page 1
