The harpy began to speak, in her grating, otherworldly voice. “Rosalind. It’s your fault that Tammi has been captured. Do you know that? She never would have been dragged into a demonic war if it weren’t for you and your stupid legacy as a Hunter.”
A sharp agony pierced Rosalind’s chest—something different to the pain of the talons. “How do you know that?” She managed between clenched teeth.
“You drove your sister mad. You drove your best friend into hell. And now, you’ll get what’s coming to you.”
The harpy’s words evoked something in her—a sharp pang of empty hunger, so intense she thought she’d never be able to fill the void in her gut. She just wanted it to end.
“You tortured Malphus,” screeched the harpy. “He’d never showed you anything but kindness, and you drowned him. You let the Brotherhood brainwash you, because deep in your heart you’re rotten to the core.”
Emptiness gnawed at Rosalind, a painful, rapacious starvation. Pain and hunger mingled, until she couldn’t remember her own name anymore. She was a ravening beast, desperate to fill the void.
“You destroyed Tammi’s life,” the harpy screeched.
Tammi. A flicker of familiarity sparked in her mind. She had a purpose. She was here to fight for Tammi, the girl who loved cats. Fight, Rosalind. The pain and hunger were dizzying, ripping her mind in two, but she needed to get control. Grimacing, she reached down and pulled off the iron ring. It fell from her fingers, moonlight sparking off it as it dropped the earth.
Cleo’s mossy aura burst into her mind, drowning out the pain. She couldn’t remember now who she was, only that her body was in trouble. Deep, deep trouble.
“You’ve led Tammi to her death!” the harpy shrieked.
There was that name again. She squeezed her eyes shut. I’m Rosalind. She tried to claw out a corner of space in her own mind, forcing Cleo’s magic into a smaller ball with all of her will.
Clenching her teeth, she crushed Cleo’s magic into a tiny ball in her mind. Cleo. I need strength.
As the harpy’s talons dug in deeper, Rosalind saw a spell burning in her mind; she called out the words, one by one. As she finished the final syllable, an immense power surged, numbing all her pain.
She drew her legs up until they were in reach, contorting her body, and pulled a knife from her pants, then reached back to slash for the harpy’s leg. The demon shrieked, her voice rending the night air. As she unclenched her talons, Rosalind reached up to grab the creature’s wing. The harpy shrieked again, her flight path careening wildly over the streets of Cambridge as Rosalind clung to her feathers.
Body surging with power, Rosalind hoisted herself up until she could get a grip on the harpy’s feathered back. She hooked her leg over the demon’s back, pulling her way up until she straddled the harpy’s back.
The harpy screamed, “You caused all of this, Rosalind! No one has ever loved you until Tammi, and you drove your only friend into a prison. It’s all your fault.”
That painful, gnawing hunger welled in Rosalind’s chest again, and Cleo’s magic flared. Gritting her teeth, Rosalind forced the aura tighter again, then ripped another blade from her trousers, leaning down to press it against the harpy’s neck. The demon growled, then fell silent.
Rosalind’s breath came in ragged gasps, her body buzzing with this strange power that drowned out some of the hunger. “How do you know about Tammi?”
“I don’t.”
“You were talking to me about Tammi!” Rosalind screamed.
“I reflected the thoughts from your own mind.”
Right. She’d forgotten that was what harpies did—they stole your own guilty thoughts and shouted them back at you. It didn’t mean any of it was true. “What were you doing in Drew’s house?”
“I’m one of his servants,” she hissed. “And when he learns—”
Rosalind pressed the blade harder into the harpy’s neck. “What do you do for Drew?”
“We protect his home.”
She peered down at the city streets below. They were above Boston now, heading over a highway toward the airport. Cars rushed by below them. “Fly back to Brattle Street. I’m going to Abduxiel Mansion.”
The harpy arced in the air, careening back toward Mount Auburn Cemetery.
Rosalind leaned down, gripping the harpy’s hair. “Who else is Drew working with?”
“I don’t know.”
“I’ve got a lot of knives,” she whispered into the harpy’s ear, letting her voice drip with menace. “And I will cut your wings from your body, even if it kills us both. Who else is he working with?”
“Erish,” she growled. “The succubus.”
Anger ignited in her mind. The first clue why Drew would want me dead—because Erish does. “What about the Brotherhood?”
“Are you insane?” the harpy screeched. “Mages don’t work with Hunters.”
Maybe. Maybe not. The winds whipped Rosalind’s hair. “Are Erish and Drew together in Maremount?”
The harpy merely growled, and Rosalind slid her knife a little deeper into the demon’s skin.
“At Ekur Fortress,” the harpy choked out.
As she flew, Rosalind caught a glimpse of Aurora, hurrying along Brattle street. She could feel the effects of the spell weakening, and fatigue pulsed through her muscles. Pain from the talon wounds bit at her gut and shoulders. She was running out of time.
“What are they doing with Tammi?”
A snarl erupted from the harpy. “You led her to her fate, Rosalind.”
Hunger sank its claws into her gut, and she drew the knife along the harpy’s shoulder blades, near her wing. “Answer my question.”
The harpy tensed at the blade’s touch, swooping lower over the cemetery in an erratic path.
Rosalind pressed hard against the shoulder blade. “Answer my question.”
“She’s going to die, Rosalind,” screeched the harpy, veering for the earth. “And you’ll stand over her starved corpse as her murderer. Your one accomplishment on this earth, ridding the world of another useless pedestrian.”
A mixture of anger and a voracious hollowness flared in Rosalind. As the harpy screamed out her accusations, Rosalind slammed the back of her elbow into the harpy’s head, gripping the demon’s hair with the other. The harpy’s head lolled, her wings drooping.
Cleo’s aura began to whirl, spiraling vines of magic that furiously whipped around her brain, and she hit the harpy again as they careened for the cemetery grass.
Chapter 18
Rosalind’s eyes opened. Caine and Aurora stood above her, peering down under the moonlight sky. Caine knelt down, tracing his fingers over Rosalind’s ravaged shoulder blade. “Gods below, Rosalind. Did you fly here on a harpy?”
“Looks like you battered the shit out of her,” Aurora said.
“It was a fair fight.” Pain tore apart Rosalind’s gut. Each one of her muscles felt like it had been ripped from her body and run over with a truck. “Erish is working with Drew. They’re at—”
“Quiet a minute,” ordered Caine. Gently, he lifted up her shirt to look at her stomach. “Gods below, Rosalind.”
“I can heal myself,” she managed. “I’m not wearing the ring.”
Caine’s gaze met hers. “I’m glad you can heal yourself, but I’m doing this for you. Lie back.”
Exhausted, she lay back on the grass. Caine chanted his soothing spell, his aura caressing her skin like a cool wind. The pain subsided from her body, leaving behind only a trace of that horrible, gnawing hunger, and an overwhelming sense of nausea.
Her eyes flicked to the harpy, who lay facedown on the grass. “Did I kill her?”
“Yes,” Caine said.
Nausea climbed up her throat, and she rolled over onto all fours to heave up her breakfast.
“Are you going to get sick every time you kill someone?” Aurora said. “Can we get this girl some whiskey to wash away the sick?”
Rosalind wiped the back of her hand acr
oss her mouth, and Caine helped her stand, slipping his arm around her waist. Fatigue suffocated her body, and Cleo’s aura began to whirl, jumbling her thoughts. She was too tired to control it.
“Iron,” she said.
Caine glanced at Aurora. “Get us some iron from the cemetery gates.”
The vamp nodded, rushing off in a bright blue blur. The beautiful man held her up, and she leaned into him, letting his soothing aura wash over her, drinking in his woodsy, earthy smell. She wanted him—if only her body weren’t so sore.
They walked toward the mansion, its tall windows glowing gold.
In the next few moments, the vampire appeared, gripping a thin piece of iron. She handed it to the beautiful man, who held it up, whispering a blacksmithing spell. The iron glowed hot and red, then snaked into a thin ring shape, decorated with tiny sprouted leaves and branches. Beautiful, Cleo whispered. But I don’t want that iron near me. I’m in control now.
She backed away from the beautiful man, but he grabbed her hand, his grasp firm. He slid the ring onto her finger.
Rosalind blinked, Cleo’s aura now gone. She was completely exhausted, and still ravenous.
“Aurora told me you conducted a spell,” Caine said. “You must be careful with the powerful spells. You’re not ready for them yet, unless you’ve got me there.”
“I think I did okay.” She leaned in to him as they walked toward the mansion. “It was the harpy that nearly drove me mad.”
“That’s what harpies do.” His arm slid around her waist. “What did you learn from the tracking spell?”
“They’re in Maremount. South of the city—maybe ten or twelve miles.”
Caine’s grip on her waist tightened, and the shadows around them seemed to darken. “You’re sure it’s Maremount?”
“I saw the name on the city gates. The fortress is far outside it, beyond a wilderness of woods. The harpy called it Ekur Fortress.”
“The fortress of the mountain goddess…” murmured Caine. “What in the seven hells would a succubus be doing in Borgerith’s lair? Shadow demons are ancient enemies of the mountain goddess.”
“No clue,” Rosalind said. “But whatever her plans are, we’re about to disrupt them, big time.”
They stepped up to the mansion door, and Caine pulled it open. Inside, candles flickered in the chandeliers, and amber light danced over the cavernous stone hall.
“Go rest.” Caine slid his hand from her waist. “You’ll need to recover before we can go to Maremount.”
First, Rosalind wanted a sip of that whiskey, then a little nap was in order if she was going to travel between worlds. She’d need some strength to battle Erish and Drew.
As she crossed to the living room, she gazed at the iron ring Caine had made for her. Oddly—for Caine—it wasn’t purely utilitarian. A flourish of leaves was engraved on the exterior.
Aurora was already filling a glass with whiskey, and Rosalind sank onto the sofa, her muscles burning. The news was still flashing the pictures of Rosalind with the skull.
Aurora crossed to her, thrusting a glass of whiskey into her hand.
“Cheers,” Rosalind said, lifting her glass. She took a sip, letting the rich, peaty taste roll over her tongue. “So now all we have to do is break into another dimension, travel through the wilderness to a mountain fortress, and defeat a legion of harpies, a succubus, and probably some other stuff.”
“One thing at a time.” Aurora plopped into an armchair. “That bloody spell ripped the life out of me. Or the afterlife. Whatever.”
Rosalind’s eyes drifted closed for a moment. She was going to travel to Maremount—back to where it had all begun. The city where the Ravener had once slaughtered a king and queen, where her family had given her an extra soul. Where her ancestors had lived and died.
Even with these thoughts churning in her mind, sleep beckoned to her. Her thoughts drifted to a deep and vast night sky, the stars blazing like gems—cold and beautiful, like Caine. She took a deep breath, her nostrils filling with the scent of seaweed and salty air.
Sea grasses tickled her bare feet, and ash trees lined a shoreline. Water lapped against rocks. She turned, her gaze landing on a stake, and horror slammed into her. I know what’s coming next.
The sky darkened, black as a cauldron, and the clouds opened, unleashing the rain. Caine emerged from a blur of silver and shadow, gripping the woman. His angry aura lashed the air around him. Growling, he threw her against the stake. She looked so much like Rosalind.
Her deep brown eyes snapped wide open. The air was positively frigid as Caine slammed a nail through the center of her chest.
“Rosalind!”
Someone slapped her in the face, and she opened her eyes. Aurora stood over her. “You were having some sort of nightmare. And you spilled whiskey all over yourself.”
“Just a bad dream,” Rosalind said, looking down at her drenched clothes.
“Of what?”
Her gaze met Aurora’s. “I think Caine is going to kill Miranda someday. I’ve dreamt of him nailing her to a stake.”
The vampire’s face relaxed. “Oh. I thought it was something bad.”
“That is bad. Either that or he’s going to kill me. We look alike.”
Aurora sniffed. “He might nail you but I don’t know about kill you.”
“It feels like watching my own death,” she said. “Like I’m in two places at once, and one of me is dead.”
“You can get used to the idea of being dead,” Aurora said.
Caine’s electric silver aura entered the room before he did. As he crossed the threshold, he stared at Rosalind. “What are you two talking about?”
Rosalind straightened. “We’re talking about how to get to Maremount.”
“You and I will create a portal together. It will use up more of your energy, so we can’t go until you’ve slept again.”
“How does it work?” Rosalind asked. “Will we end up in another fountain?”
“Yes,” Caine said. “I know of one in the center of the city. We’ll arrive in Lilinor fountain, then travel into the wilderness. We need to limit our use of magic in the city.”
Rosalind frowned. “Why?”
He sat beside her on the sofa. “There was a civil war in Maremount a few years ago—a rebellion. The monarchy was overthrown, and some of the poor took over. I don’t know what this new government is like, but I can tell you this: the rulers of Maremount have always kept a tight rein on the use of magic. Any unsanctioned spells can be detected, and the outlaws hunted down by bone wardens that will tear your flesh from your bones.”
Rosalind had never heard this before. “And my parents were loyal to the monarchy?” she asked. “Before the monarchy was overthrown?”
“They pretended they were, of course,” he said. “It’s the family motto: Loyalty Binds Me. Emblazoned on my jailer’s lapels.”
Loyalty Binds Me. Rosalind’s heart stopped. “Do you know if I had other relatives? Besides my parents and Miranda?”
“I don’t know. I was chained to a stone wall in your cellar. They didn’t introduce me to the whole family.”
She took a deep breath. “The badge the jailers wore—did it have an eagle on it?”
He quirked an eyebrow. “Yes. Why?”
Holy hells. She couldn’t breathe. “Because that’s Drew’s family crest. It was hanging on his wall. It’s how I tracked him—his heraldic emblem.”
“Gods below,” murmured Caine.
“Someone in your family kidnapped your sister and your best friend?” Aurora said. She stretched her arms over her head, crossing to the doorway. “Your family’s well screwed up.”
Caine knew more about her family’s history than he was letting on, and it was beginning to piss Rosalind off. “You said my parents pretended to be loyal to the crown. What happened to them during the civil war?”
His eyes darkened with shadows, and the angles of his face seemed to sharpen. “They died.”
The wor
ds hit her like a punch to her chest. “Why didn’t you tell me this before?”
The ghost of black wings rose up behind him, and the lights flickered in the room. The sight of him screamed menace.
“Are you going to lecture me again, about how friends tell each other things?” he snarled. “We’re not friends, Rosalind. We’re on a mission to retrieve your sister. And the purpose of that mission is to strengthen the army I’ve been leading for three centuries. I’m going to destroy the Hunters who want to slaughter every demon and mage on the planet. That—and that alone—is my goal.”
Anger burned in her veins and she rose, standing just inches from him. He towered over her, but she wasn’t going to let this incubus scare her. “How did they die?” she demanded.
He stared down at her, their bodies nearly touching, and something electric crackled between them. For just a second, his features softened—then something caught his attention.
His head whipped around to stare at the TV. Rosalind followed his gaze.
Malphus’s beautiful face filled the screen. He looked so much like Caine—beautiful, but with softer features. A hint of fear played around his gray eyes, nothing like Caine’s cool, calculating stare.
As the camera angle zoomed out, Rosalind saw a phalanx of Hunters leading him up a wooden scaffold. It looked like Cambridge Common. Horror gripped her heart. “He’s been arrested.”
She stepped closer to the TV, pushing the buttons until the volume rose.
“And the Brotherhood have captured one of the primary coven members, a demon known as Malphus Mountfort. Authorities believe he comes from a demonic realm called Maremount, home to monsters known as Rawhed and the Ravener.”
Malphus stood before a jeering crowd, camera lights flashing in his face. Iron chains hung round his neck. When the Brotherhood had captured Caine and Rosalind, they hadn’t known the right type of magic to bind an incubus. The chains needed to be charmed—which, of course, the Brotherhood didn’t know how to do.
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