“You know how they operate. What do you think they’re doing?”
She took a deep breath, scanning the article. Randolph Loring, the Brotherhood’s leader, was already calling for more extreme measures. They needed to suspend the normal laws so the government could protect its citizens. Otherwise, the demons and witches would win. She’d heard all this before, but now they had the entire country listening. They were proposing an Act of Congress called the Liberty Act, which would expand their ability to imprison and punish humans without trials.
Rosalind bit her lip, anger surging. This is working out so well for them, isn’t it?
She took a deep breath. “Josiah lectured us about leadership. He said that wars are fought with PR, and that if a populace doesn’t believe in the work we were doing, it could limit the Brotherhood’s effectiveness. They believe public perception and civil liberties can tie their hands with red tape and legal requirements.” She slammed the paper shut. “This is why they like scapegoats. If people are scared enough of you, the Brotherhood can do whatever they want. There will be no limits to their power. They need the country to be horrified by magic. And whoever invoked the keres…” Her voice rose. “They handed the Brotherhood a major victory. People are terrified. The Brotherhood can take us back to the dark ages now. They can light people on fire in the town common if they want.”
“Why, exactly, do they want this?”
She shivered. “I only ever wanted to fight demons. I saw what the demons had done in Boston, and I thought it was us against them—that we needed to protect ourselves from people like Bileth or Erish. But the people who run the Brotherhood are true believers. They worship Blodrial, and they want heretics to be punished. They want to claim souls for Blodrial, to purify the country in his blood. They want to bring back the golden age of witch hunting, and completely rid the earth of the Angelic language. They believe in racial purity—humans shouldn’t mix with demons. And whoever created the keres massacre played right into their hands.”
Caine arched an eyebrow. “They’ve simply scapegoated the only mages they knew of, and Tammi, who has nothing to do with anything. They’re biding their time—hoping that you’ll try to save her. If I had to guess, you’re their real target.” He reached out to touch her hand, gently tugging her closer. “You slept for a very long time. Night is falling again, and we have work to do. We’re going out in the fields.”
“What’s out there?”
“Phobetor Pond. It works as a scrying glass. Plus, I don’t like to perform powerful magic in here.”
“Why not?”
He traced a finger down her arm. “Things can light on fire. Especially with that burning thing you do.”
“That’s very reassuring.”
* * *
They stood at the bank of the serene pond by the tower. Crickets chirped nearby, and the water’s surface reflected the pregnant moon that hung in the darkening sky. All around the water’s edge, yellow primrose bloomed in silvery light, dappled with moonflowers and bluebells.
Caine pulled away from her, and the breeze caressed her skin. “This is a powerful spell—one that will allow us to peer between worlds. Your magic will double my power.”
She took a deep breath. “I’m ready. Whatever we need to do, I’ll do it.”
“Your second soul—Cleo—will remember the spell. Let her tell you the words.” He held out his hand. “Let me hold the iron ring. If you lose your mind and start incinerating everything or trying to tear my clothes off, I’ll get it back on you.”
Rosalind took a deep breath, and slipped off her magic-dampening ring.
The green, vernal magic welled in her body, snaking around the inside of her skull. Her skin began to heat, her eyes drifting left.
A beautiful man stood before her, his pale skin stunning against his dark hair. Soft, supple lips, stark cheekbones, and eyes the color of winter. Heat rushed through her core, and she wrapped her arms around his neck. This man was pure power, and she wanted some of it.
“Rosalind,” he said.
Her lip curled in a snarl. She didn’t like that name—she was Cleo. But she knew how to get men to stop talking. Smiling, she slid her fingers up his shirt, feeling the hard muscle underneath. She traced her fingers lower, reveling in his intake of breath. If she could just run her tongue—
“Rosalind!” he barked through clenched teeth. “Miranda needs you. So does Tammi.”
Those words sparked something in her—recognition. There was something she was supposed to be doing. Her thoughts whirled with confusion. Miranda. A girl who looks like me. She pressed closer to the beautiful man, running her foot up the back of his leg. She knew what his kiss felt like, and she wanted more. But another voice screamed in her skull. Tammi… she’s in trouble. You need to help.
With a slight tightening of his jaw, the man pulled her arms from his neck. “Rosalind. Tammi and Miranda will die if you don’t get control.”
The words hit her like a slap to the face, and an image flashed in her mind—someone chaining Tammi to a stake.
She shook her head, trying to wrench control from Cleo, focusing on the tendrils of unfurling green magic. If she concentrated hard enough, she could tighten them into a sphere, just as she had before. She straightened, pulling her arms from Caine’s neck, but grabbing hold of his hand. His touch helped to anchor her, helped her keep control of Cleo’s magic.
He gazed into her eyes. “Are you with me, Rosalind?”
She nodded. “I’m here.”
“I’m going to chant the spell to locate Miranda. After you hear me say it once, you’ll be able to join in. Are you ready?”
“Yes.”
Caine began chanting in Angelic. This time—for the first time—she noticed she could understand the words. Caine was speaking of a scrying glass, asking men named Morpheus and Phantasos to bless him with a vision of Miranda. His delicious aura tingled over her body, and she gazed into the pond, chanting with him.
They repeated the spell over and over, until the full moon in the water began to ripple and swirl, transforming into Miranda’s body.
At the sight of her twin sister, Rosalind’s stomach swooped. Miranda wore a shimmering white gown, and her brown eyes stared vacantly. She stood in a gray room, its walls covered with alchemical symbols that moved and twisted. Thick, dusty bookshelves stood on one side of the room. The vision in the scrying pond sharpened, and Rosalind could read the books’ spines: Angelic texts to control the weather, cure ailments, and summon demons.
The image swirled again, changing this time to a rocky fortress with gleaming marble walls rising from a bluish mountainside. A creature perched on one of the palace turrets—a woman with bare breasts and caramel-colored wings, long bronze hair tumbling down her back. Instead of feet, she had long, sharp talons.
The water swirled once more, and in the next moment Rosalind was staring at the moon reflected on the glassy surface again.
“Where the hell was that?” Rosalind asked, still forcing Cleo’s magic into a tight sphere in her mind.
“I don’t know yet.” Caine’s voice was low, strained.
She tightened her grasp on his hand. “What about Tammi?”
He blinked, as if trying to clear his thoughts. “Are you ready to try again?”
“Yes.”
Caine began speaking again in Angelic, and she joined in, asking Morpheus and Phantasos to show him Tammi.
The water rippled, and as the moon disappeared in the light-dappled water, Tammi’s image emerged. She was dressed in rags that hung from her thin frame, and sat with her wrists shackled in iron, chained above her head to a dank stone wall. She looked like she’d lost twenty pounds. Someone crawled in front of her—another half-starved human, then another. Rosalind’s stomach clenched. Whoever had captured Tammi had crammed her into a mass cell. Bile rose in Rosalind’s throat. Was this in one of the Brotherhood prisons?
Once again, the water shimmered, and the image sparkled away until a
nother picture replaced it. Ice washed over Rosalind. It was the same building—the mountain palace—where Miranda was swanning about in a white gown.
Rosalind’s heart thundered in her ribs. What the actual fuck? Miranda wasn’t in chains. Had she imprisoned Tammi? It was entirely possible, given what Miranda had done in the Chambers. She was a lunatic, and she had a huge amount of magical power at her fingertips.
Miranda—her own twin—was involved in Tammi’s disappearance. Miranda’s mind was completely shattered, so what did that mean for Rosalind’s ability to cope with this power?
She pulled away from Caine, her emotions whirling. Let me back in, said a voice in her mind. Cleo will take away your pain.
The tendrils of green magic curled around her mind, pushing the worries out of her head.
She turned to the beautiful man again. Grabbing him by his black shirt, she pulled him closer, feeling his body’s heat against hers. She wanted out of this little blue dress, and began tugging down the shoulder. Caine stiffened, then whirled her around, pinning her arms to her side. She struggled against him, but in the next moment he’d slid the iron ring onto her finger. Still, he held her to him, breathing hard.
Rosalind’s mind cleared of the magic, replaced instead by cold, gnawing dread. Tammi is being starved and tortured, possibly by my sister. Her breath came in short, sharp bursts, and fatigue burned her muscles. Her legs trembled; the blood drained from her head. Caine wasn’t kidding when he said the spell would take up my reserves of energy. She could sleep for another two days right now.
Caine loosened his hold on her, and she stepped away, then turned to look at him. “You don’t know where the mountain palace is?”
He shook his head. “No. It was hard to break through to where they were, and I didn’t recognize it. Somewhere with harpies.”
“What god are harpies allied with?”
“The mountain goddess.”
Rosalind took a deep breath. “All of the gods have associated metals, right?”
“Yes. Nyxobas is silver, as you might have guessed.”
“Which metal belongs to the mountain goddess?”
“Copper.”
She bit her lip. “Drew has a copper aura.” She twisted the ring on her finger. “He’s from Maremount. Could it be there?”
“There are no mountain fortresses in Maremount.” He frowned, moonlight glinting in his pale eyes. “Possibly outside of the city. But like I said, I’m not going to Maremount unless I’m absolutely certain.”
“Right. After the Great Regicide Debacle of 1693.” Sweat beaded her brow, and she wiped the back of her hand against her forehead. “Anyway, you’re right. We don’t want to go on a wild goose chase into the wrong dimension.” She glanced at the lake, now placid as a mirror. “At least we know the Brotherhood doesn’t have Tammi yet. They might be evil assholes, but they’re evil assholes who hate magic, and have no idea how to travel between worlds.”
A flicker of movement in the corner of Rosalind’s eye caught her attention, and she stared up at the night sky, now tinged with golden light.
Three shining, bronze-skinned women fluttered beneath the stars, fiery hair trailing behind them. In their wake, they left streaks of light—crimson, pumpkin, and lilac—and they flew in shimmering coral gowns with wings the color of honey.
“What are those?” Rosalind asked.
“Sometimes, the aura created by powerful magic attracts other magical creatures. These are Hesperides—spirits of dusk. Beautiful, and completely harmless.”
The warm light of the Hesperides danced over Caine’s golden skin. Hard to imagine this gorgeous, soothing man driving a nail into anyone’s heart—though she’d seen him fight before, and he was ruthless.
Coral light glinted off his gray eyes. “I take it Drew is no longer your golden boy?”
She shook her head. “He never was. I’m not trusting anyone. His whole argument was that you wanted revenge for what the Hunters had done to your brother. I’m the one who tortured him, and yet you’ve done nothing but keep me alive. Drew seemed very eager to lay the blame on you. That automatically makes him suspicious.”
“Good. I hope you remember that, whatever happens next.”
She ran a hand through her chopped hair. “What does happen next? How do we find this place?”
“If I can find something that belongs to Miranda, it will help me complete a tracking spell. A piece of her clothing, a strand of her hair. You said that you sensed her around Abduxiel Mansion. Maybe I can find something small she left behind.”
The three Hesperides drifted in front of the moon, staining the sky amber.
“And while we do that,” she said, “we need to stay out of the Brotherhood’s line of vision.” Doubt welled in her chest. He had kept her alive all this time—but she couldn’t rule out the possibility that he only wanted her alive as long as she served a purpose. He needed her to create the daywalkers, and he’d never disguised the importance he placed on a person’s tactical value. “Caine, what will you do if we find Miranda and she has no interest whatsoever in helping Ambrose create his army of daywalkers? Because I don’t think she has the same goals as you. She’s either insane, or she’s actively working against us.”
“I don’t know. I’m hoping to heal her mind.”
“And if it doesn’t work?”
He traced his finger down Rosalind’s bare arm, and his seductive magic caressed her skin with a trail of tingles. “What are you worried about, specifically?”
She started to speak, but stopped herself. What she wanted to ask was Will you still want me alive when I no longer serve a purpose? But she wasn’t sure she wanted to hear his answer.
Chapter 16
Rosalind’s footsteps echoed off the high ceiling in Abduxiel Mansion’s drafty stone parlor. Small stone gargoyles leered from the walls, and the light from the TV flickered over the room—an odd mix of gothic and modern.
As Rosalind and Aurora waited for Caine to scour the grounds outside for a stray strand of hair, Rosalind was practically wearing a groove into the floor with her pacing. She was back in her fighting gear—the leather clothes Caine had got for her, and had enough blades to open a knife shop—but there was no one to fight. Yet.
She glanced at Aurora. The vampire had kicked off her heels, and sat curled up in a velvet armchair. As Aurora watched Orcus’s old TV, she sipped some kind of combination of whiskey and gin, two olives bobbing in her toxic cocktail. She wore a vibrant blue dress, striking against her dark skin. Silver hoop earrings dangled from her ears, glinting in the warm light.
She frowned at Rosalind. “Stop walking in front of the telly.”
“Sorry.”
“This show’s getting good. Someone’s about to get eaten.”
Rosalind gazed at the TV. In tall grass, a lion hunted a gazelle. The creature reared back on its haunches before leaping, pulling the gazelle down with her claws and sinking her teeth into her prey’s neck.
At the sight of blood spraying from the gazelle’s neck, Aurora raised her hands above her head, spilling her drink. “Yes! Now that was an amazing kill.” Exhaling, she leaned back in her chair, shaking her head. “Nature’s bloody amazing.”
“I think I might need some of what you’re drinking.”
“I call it the Embalmer,” Aurora said. “Not sure it’s suitable for living types to be honest.”
Rosalind crossed the bar, uncorking an old bottle of scotch. She poured two fingers into a tall glass before turning back to Aurora.
Aurora crinkled her nose. “What happened to you, anyway? You don’t look the same.”
“It’s the hair.”
Aurora twirled her drink between her fingers, nodding. “Yeah. It’s all choppy. Not a good look for you, really.”
“It wasn’t done on purpose,” Rosalind said.
“Looks like you sawed it off with a breadknife during a psychotic episode.”
“That’s basically what happened, only the psychoti
c episode belonged to someone else.”
“The ker queen?” Aurora cocked her head. “I don’t know what Queen Erish wants with all of them keres anyway. Filthy creatures. What’s she after?”
“No idea. She disappeared from Lilinor. In Caine’s view, everything she does is motivated by her obsessive lust for him.” She bit her lip. “Although, according to Caine, everyone has the hots for him. In reality, that probably has nothing to do with anything.”
Aurora arched an eyebrow, pointing a long, manicured nail. “Don’t act like you don’t have the hots for him.”
Rosalind’s forehead wrinkled. “Whatever.” My future with the Ravener apparently involves crucifixion, so I won’t get my hopes up for a happily ever after. She glanced at the door. “Don’t you think Caine needs our help, searching for stray hairs or whatever he’s trying to find? It can’t be easy looking for tiny specks of evidence in a dark graveyard.”
“He can see in the dark better than I can, what with him being part Night God. And his eyes are certainly better than your useless human orbs.” Aurora popped an olive in her mouth. “Frankly, I’m surprised he waited so long to tell you about the demigod thing. Nyxobas’s offspring are quite keen on being worshipped, even if they won’t admit it.”
“Maybe he and Erish would be well-suited, then.” Rosalind pivoted, pacing the room again. “Any theories on where Erish went?”
Aurora took a deep breath. “Let me see if I can keep this all straight. Tammi’s been kidnapped, maybe by your twin sister, who’s a total nutter. And those two are in a mountain palace in another dimension.”
“That’s right.”
“Possibly unrelated,” Aurora continued. “An army of keres ate a load of humans in Harvard Square.”
Rosalind took a sip of her scotch, letting it burn her throat. “Pretty much.”
“Meanwhile, Queen Erish can’t fucking stand you because she thinks you might shag her fella, even though she looks like a goddess, and you’ve got shit hair—”
“She caused the shit hair,” Rosalind interrupted.
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