by Amy Sumida
Blood that had seeped into the Zone.
“There's magic in blood,” I whispered.
“Yes, now you understand.” Daha nodded. “As a Goddess reborn, your blood had the power to wake a God.”
A Goddess reborn; I liked that. But I had to focus. “So, if my blood—the blood of a reborn Goddess with limited power—could do that, what could Gargo's blood do?”
It was rhetorical, of course, and Daha only nodded again; acknowledging that the possibilities were both endless and terrifying.
“How do we cleanse the Zone?”
“There's only one way to counter blood magic,” Daha declared. “I believe you know the answer to that as well.”
I grimaced. “With more blood?”
“Blood equal in power.”
“My blood.”
“No, Elaria.” Daha continued to stare into the distance with his glowing eyes, despite his focused speech. “Your blood is too hot; pitching it against Gargo's will bring you a stalemate, not a win. You need blood that cools. Blood that can counter that which boils beneath us.”
“Darc's blood,” I whispered in horror.
Daha bowed deeply.
Giving my blood wouldn't have fazed me; I'd bled here before. But the idea of Darcraxis opening a vein filled me with fear. He's a God, I shouldn't have worried, but still... he wasn't as divine as he once was and even Gods can be killed.
“How much of it will we need?” I finally asked.
“I cannot see that but I assume it will be substantial. The infection has spread.”
“Is there no other way?”
“There may be one, but it will not be available to you until later, and it would leave the Zone to suffer in your absence. I don't recommend it.”
If I hadn't been so worried, I'd have been more impressed by Daha. He may have started vague but he'd rapidly become precise. I'd gotten more useful information from him than from any psychic before. Frankly, I didn't know it was possible to get such clear answers out of a seer. Daha was beyond talented; I'd go as far as to call him a master of his craft. I could barely believe that it was Binx who brought us to him. But, as I said, I was worried so my reaction was a bit more... frustrated than awed.
“Damn!” I cursed again, rubbed at my forehead, then squared my shoulders. “Okay, one more question, if you don't mind. Is the spirit of Gargo—his soul or essence, whatever you wish to call it—loose in the Zone?”
Daha went silent. His hood shivered once more. His glowing eyes seemed to focus on me, making me shiver too. I got the impression that he was weighing his words before he spoke them. Or searching me for the truth. Sweet stones, did he think Gargo was inside me? Was he?
There is only us here, my love; I promise you that, Kyanite assured me. Perhaps we are who he sees.
Thanks, Ky. You're probably right.
Then Daha spoke, “There are no disembodied spirits in this zone.”
I let out a relieved breath. “That's one bit of good news. Thank you, Daha, you have been incredibly helpful. Honestly, I expected far less.”
Daha blinked, his eyes immediately beginning to lose their luminescence. “It was my honor, Elaria Tanager. I have never had the pleasure of reading a Goddess and it's a memory I shall treasure.”
“A reborn Goddess,” I reminded him with a grin.
He inclined his head and returned my smile before getting to his feet then waving me forward. We headed for the door, him a step behind me, but as I moved out of the room, Daha suddenly seized my arm. I turned back to him in surprise, and his eyes flared so brightly that I had to close mine against the glare.
In my darkness, I heard him speak in a voice far deeper and more resonant than the one he'd used before.
“I will have my vengeance upon the Gods who wronged me! You will not stop me, Spellsinger. I am already here!”
Chapter Eleven
“Elaria!” Slate came running up the stairs followed closely by his brothers.
I stood, frozen in place, staring at Daha while his hand continued to grip my arm punishingly. His voice had been loud enough to make the house tremble; it didn't surprise me that Slate had come to my defense. But as Slate reached me, Daha's grip went slack and he slid away from me in a faint. Slate had to catch the seer instead of protect me; which, of course, had become unnecessary. Slate looked from the Naga to me in confusion.
“Put him on the floor.” I snapped out of my fear to say—and I was afraid; terribly afraid. Something in that voice had sounded familiar and it had definitely known me. “There, on the pillows.”
Slate took Daha further into the room and laid him down just as Achira pushed past the other men.
“Daha!” Achira cried and dropped to her knees beside him. “Brother?” She stroked his hood gently.
Daha stirred and his snake eyes flickered open. He reached out for his sister and sat up with her help. He looked around the room then back at her, confusion twisting his expression. “Achira?”
Achira declared her relief in another language then hugged her brother tightly.
“What happened? Why is the Zone Lord in our home?” Daha asked.
Achira eased back and looked at her brother in shock. “You don't know? Lord Binx asked you to see his brother but you counseled the Spellsinger, Elaria Tanager, instead.”
Daha looked at me without any sign of recognition. “Oh, dear. I hope I helped you, Spellsinger, because it seems to have cost me the memory of it.”
“Is that common?” I asked warily.
“It's very rare but it has happened before. Usually, when strong magic is involved; magic that seeks to counter my counsel.”
“You gave me very good counsel, Daha. I'm grateful for it,” I assured him. “But as we were leaving the room, you grabbed my arm and spoke in a voice that wasn't yours.”
“Now, that is common,” Daha said as he stood. “Don't fuss, Achira; I am well. I promise you. It's only my mind that has suffered a blow.”
Achira stood back and nodded but she was obviously still distraught. Binx edged up beside her. He reached out hesitantly, barely touching her fingertips. Achira snatched his hand and leaned against his side, all propriety forgotten in her fear.
“You don't understand,” I insisted. “This voice wasn't the one you used to prophesy. It shook the house and it addressed me as if it knew me.”
“Ah,” Daha said softly. “Then that would be the magic that opposes you.”
“You're saying it was magic that spoke through you?” Slate asked. “Not a person or a spirit?”
“Honestly, I don't know for certain. I have no memory of the threat and I've learned to never discount any possibility. But I can say that it's unlikely that a disembodied spirit spoke through me. I have been doing this for a very long time and I know how to protect myself from unwanted invasion. My best guess is that I sensed a gathering energy and connected with it out of curiosity, thus giving it a chance to speak through me.”
“My brother is the strongest seer my people have ever produced,” Achira added. “That's a fact, not a boast.”
“In my reading, Daha told me that there are no disembodied spirits in this zone,” I said to Slate. “So, I think that rules out Gargo's soul as the speaker.”
“Gargo isn't here?” Slate asked as if to be certain.
“It was a straightforward answer, not a riddle,” I confirmed. “There's no way I could have misinterpreted it.”
“That's one bit of good news, I suppose.” Slate still scowled but he did so thoughtfully.
“But the other answer he gave me isn't so good.”
Slate looked from Daha back to me and nodded at my vagueness. If the seer had no memory of what he'd said, we should probably keep the bad bits to ourselves. Slate pulled out his wallet, took out a stack of cash and offered it to Daha.
“No, please, Zone Lord.” Daha held up his hands. “It was my pleasure to help you.”
“Thank you. I won't forget this.” Slate shoved the money and his
wallet back into his jacket then shook Daha's hand. “We'll leave you to recover.”
Daha flinched, looked down at their joined hands, then took a step back. “Thank you. It appears that I am wearier than I thought.”
“Daha?” Achira let go of Binx to hurry to her brother.
Binx's hand remained in the space between them a second longer than it should have; hanging there like a lost bird.
“Help me to a chair, Sister,” Daha said. “Then see our guests out. I think I need some tea.”
Achira got her brother comfortable in the same chair he'd used earlier then escorted us downstairs to the front door. We stepped outside, all but Binx. He leaned down to speak softly with Achira, and I hurried the other men toward the Jeep to give them some privacy. We got in and as soon as we were settled, Slate looked at me expectantly.
“It's Gargo's blood,” I said without preamble. “When we fought his body, it seeped into the soil and infected the Zone.”
“Fuck!” Slate snarled.
“Do you have any idea how to... cure this infection?” Aaro asked.
“Yes.” I sighed deeply. “But the cost concerns me.”
“What cost?” Slate demanded.
I glanced at Binx—busy kissing Achira—then said, “Blood. Possibly more than he can give.”
“He?” Aaro asked.
“The God of Water and Darkness,” I whispered.
Chapter Twelve
It wasn't the thought of spilling Darc's blood that haunted me as we drove back to the barracks. It was the voice that had spoken through Daha. If it was magic that was opposing us—the magic inside Gargo's blood—we could be giving it exactly what it wanted by bringing Darcraxis to the Zone. It had said it wanted vengeance upon the Gods who had wronged it. Gods; plural. There had been a few who had wronged Gargo, at least in his opinion. Depending on how loose you were with the term “God,” there could be more than a few. Either way, Darcraxis was one of them.
It seemed that Gargo's hatred had spread beyond me to include others, but he had focused on the Gods. Which, knowing Gargo, made sense. The God of the Gargoyles had been too arrogant to see anyone who wasn't a God as a threat. That meant that he wouldn't hold any mortals responsible for hurting him. To do so would be akin to admitting that a bunch of inconsequential mortals had conquered him, and Gargo would never do that. But how much reasoning would magic have? Even the magic in a God's blood.
Evidently quite a lot. Enough to set Felinae at each other's throats, send a whole race of them running, and speak to me through a seer.
“We should have known Gargo wasn't done with us,” I murmured.
“He was the first God on Earth,” Slate said almost reverently. “It doesn't surprise me that even his blood can kill.”
“Not kill; infect,” I mused. “It seeped into the stones for sanctuary and now it's rising. But why now?”
“Maybe it needed some time to regroup,” Aaro suggested.
“Isn't Darcraxis immortal?” Binx tossed the question over his shoulder as he drove.
“Yes,” I said warily. “To an extent.”
“Does that extent include bleeding him dry?” Binx asked pointedly.
“I don't know,” I whispered. “Hopefully, it won't take that much blood.”
Slate made a grating sound in his throat. “I don't like this. There has to be another way.”
“There isn't,” I said grimly. “I asked. The only other option would be lead to more suffering; Daha wouldn't even tell me what it is.”
“We'll leave it up to Darc,” Slate said decisively. “If he doesn't want to do it, I won't hold it against him.”
“Our zone is in jeopardy,” Aaro argued. “He has to do it. Darc's like family and family helps each other no matter the cost.”
“Jago,” Slate spoke into his radio instead of answering Aaro.
“Boss?”
“Forget the search for tunnels. Meet us back at my office.”
“Yup.”
Slate tucked the radio into his jacket and took my hand. He stared forward resolutely.
“Slate!” Aaro growled.
“I will not force another man to bleed for me, Brother.” Slate looked down at our joined hands then lifted them and kissed the back of mine.
I heard what laid unspoken in that gesture; that he especially would not ask it of someone whose death would hurt me.
In answer, I lifted my contact charm and slid it into my ear. “Darcraxis.”
It was all the direction the charm needed; there was only one Darcraxis in all the Realms.
“My fire,” Darc's deep, sensual voice purred into my ear.
“Hey, you,” I whispered.
“What's happened?” Darc immediately went on alert.
“We've got a problem in Slate's zone.” I glanced at Slate, and he gave me a look that spoke volumes; all of them entitled Don't Manipulate Darcraxis.
“Again?” Darc asked.
“Again,” I confirmed. “We need your help.”
“Of course. Anything.”
“Before you agree, you need to know what it is we need, Darc.”
“Go on.”
“Gargo's blood has infected the Zone. The only way to counter it is with blood that's equally as powerful. Blood with a magic that's cold and cleansing.”
“My blood,” he concluded.
“You got it, babe. But you can say no. Slate wants me to make that clear to you. No one will—”
“I'm on my way,” Darc cut me off. “I'll summon the others as well.”
“Darc,” I whispered gratefully and let go of Slate.
Slate's hand curled into a fist and withdrew to his lap.
“I will survive it, my fire,” Darc said simply. “I would not risk eternity with you if I didn't believe that absolutely.”
“Okay. But hold on one sec.” I looked at Slate. “Are the wards still keyed to us? Will they let Darc and the others through?”
“Of course,” Slate said brusquely.
Slate's zone came equipped with an emergency ward that could be activated to prevent Beneathers with the means to travel magically from invading. I knew that Slate had the ward altered to allow his Gargoyles, my men, and me through but that alteration had been done during the war with Gargo, and I wasn't sure that he'd kept it in place.
“Okay, you're good to travel,” I said to Darc.
“I love you.” The connection faded.
I removed the charm and let it drop on its chain as I stared ahead, my chest cold and constricted. I knew something was bothering Slate, but I didn't have the energy to wheedle it out of him. And it turned out that I didn't have to; he made it clear with his next words.
“Looks like the cavalry is coming after all,” Slate muttered.
Chapter Thirteen
“There's no shame in using your strengths,” I said as I took Slate's hand. “And we are part of your strength, Slate. This is the reward you get for sharing me. Don't scorn it now, when you actually need it.”
Binx cursed suddenly and the Jeep screeched sideways into a stop, drowning out Slate's answer. I braced for an impact that didn't come, but that was the only piece of good luck we got. A bellow drew my gaze left; to the reason Binx had stopped.
A Troll.
Trolls adore Zones. Living underground, surrounded by the stone they love nearly as much as Gargoyles do, makes them feel safe and comfortable. Every zone has a Troll population but they are generally the most well-behaved of their kind. Each zone lord has complete autonomy to pick and choose his residents, and only the most civilized trolls are allowed to live inside zones. It was a testament to how much they adored these living conditions that Trolls were willing to domesticate themselves to do so.
This particular Troll had lost all semblance of civility.
The sidewalks were quickly clearing around the Troll; residents fleeing as he swung his fists through empty air like a maniac. Although the Zone lights had been lowered to give the feel of night, streetlamps cl
early illuminated the furious expression on the Troll's craggy face. He lifted his arms, bellowed again, and brought his fists down on the road like a child throwing a temper tantrum. A crack appeared in the asphalt and Beneathers started to scream.
Slate and his brothers jumped out of the Jeep, Slate with his radio out.
