by Jenn Stark
She gave him a sidelong glance. So did the blonde. “Marcus is one of God’s children as well,” she observed. She wasn’t wrong, of course. Technically. The witches of Earth had chosen a path at the dawn of history that dog-legged a hard left from Judeo-Christian religious belief, positing the Creative force of the universe was equally shared between a male and female deity.
Their magic derived from the energy of the elements and all living things, but it was their faith that took them beyond ordinary Connected humans. They believed in and honored the sanctity of their spiritual path as incontrovertible truth, and that gave them a unique strength among mortals…as well as the power to command demons. Some witches were born, but most were made, brought up through a ritualized training or converted after highly emotional events not dissimilar to the Storm Court rave he’d just witnessed.
Another stab of pain sliced across Stefan’s brain, and he winced, trying to shake it away. No question about it, Marcus was an ace spell caster and an even more impressive asswipe. And he’d better not be doing any of this to Granger.
Stefan glared at the tall, slender witch. His hair was as white as snow, his eyes an ice blue, his mouth pulled tight in a sneer. He was attractive enough, Stefan supposed. For a dickhead. But the witch was seriously getting on his nerves. “You know, we’ve had plenty of opportunity to come up with special treatment for those of God’s children who need a time out,” he muttered.
“Shh,” Cressida said, and Stefan felt an overlay of her power on top of Marcus’s. With the weight of both witches on him, he felt like he was being smothered under a lead blanket. Good to know that while one powerful witch was an irritant, two were damned near debilitating. He didn’t know what three would do to him, and he was pretty sure he didn’t want to find out.
With very little choice otherwise, he allowed Cressida to escort him off the dance floor of Storm Court, back past the bars and into a short hallway that led to an elevator bay. The other witches followed behind them, including, he presumed, Marcus. The male witch’s pressure didn’t let up even after they exited the dance floor, but Stefan breathed through it. Better to get used to the oppressive weight and adapt than to be caught by surprise later, when it mattered.
The doors to the elevator opened, but to his surprise, there wasn’t an elevator on the other side but another corridor, this one lit with a strange green hue.
“Security,” Cressida said beside him.
He nodded, figuring as much, but security against what? None of the witches lit up, and he was the only nonwitch in his small group. As far as he could see, he also didn’t trigger the security measures, but with Marcus’s pressure bearing down on him, it was difficult to tell.
The doors shut abruptly behind him, cutting off the rest of the witch’s group, and Cressida turned quickly. Stefan stumbled forward with the release from Marcus’s hold, his brain instantly clearing.
“There isn’t much time,” she said. “It’s a thirty-second break before the others come through. You can’t break Marcus’s hold on you. You’ll need to be more careful with him.”
“I don’t need to break his hold,” Stefan retorted honestly. “No matter what he thinks, he’s not that strong. I simply need to make sure he’s the only one on me. That means you, princess.”
“Not only me. Dahlia and Elysium—”
“Aren’t as strong as you are. Unless they’re working together, and believe me, I’m not going to give them any reason to do so. So you lay off me, and we’ll be good. Deal?”
She pursed her lips, then nodded. “Deal.”
“And another thing,” he said as her gaze jumped to the far doors. “You owe me big-time for the favor you asked of me.”
She jolted. “We have no time for that.”
“Yeah, we kind of do.” Stefan breathed out, stopping time for a precious moment. Then he leaned forward and captured the witch’s lips with his.
Oh. He felt more than heard Cressida’s startled reaction, right along with the spike in her blood pressure, the swell of heat blooming in her core, the thudding of her heart, the shock and wonder and outright amazement at something as simple as a kiss. If he didn’t know better, he’d have thought the human had never been kissed before, never been desired, never been touched—
But surely that was crazy.
Stefan pulled away as quickly as he’d leaned in, leaving Cressida staring at him in utter shock and confusion as time rebooted and the doors opened behind him. Cressida whirled around, dazed, while Marcus’s choke hold on him returned with a vengeance, taking Stefan from pleasantly jacked up to flat-out pissed. Just how badly did he need this job?
Badly enough.
He gritted his teeth and kept moving.
Chapter Five
“How are you feeling, child?” Lawgiver Fraya murmured beside Cressida, before hurriedly correcting herself with a soft, self-deprecating sigh. “Though not a child anymore. Far from it. Forgive me.”
Cressida slid her mentor a warm glance. They stood together in Cressida’s apartment, waiting for the other lawgivers, and Cressida cherished these moments with her mentor more and more—particularly as they grew less frequent, given Cressida’s new role as high priestess.
“There’s neither forgiveness needed nor formalities between us, lawgiver Fraya. You know that.” Even Cressida’s use of her mentor’s official title had always been a misdirect. Fraya had been the only mother Cressida had truly known, though the head lawgiver had always been careful to impress upon Cressida that her own mother had loved her very, very much before she’d died. However, from the first moments that Cressida had found herself welcomed into the coven, Fraya had instructed Cressida to always address her as “lawgiver,” to ensure the coven understood Fraya’s role was simply as Cressida’s sponsor—nothing more.
Though of course, Fraya had been so much more to Cressida. She’d been Cressida’s sole supporter, her root and her tree, helping to both ground Cressida and to allow her to stretch to her highest potential until—finally—she’d reached the pinnacle position of high priestess. Fraya had assured Cressida she was ready for the position, but Cressida privately had her doubts.
Doubts she wasn’t about to betray to Fraya, of course. The head lawgiver had done everything she could to prepare Cressida to take on Ahriman and lead the coven. There was no way Cressida would let her down.
That said, Fraya was never one to sugarcoat the truth.
“You should know, your choices are already coming under fire,” her mentor murmured, reminding Cressida of the value of not sharing her fears with Fraya—or anyone except Dahlia. There were more than enough people willing to voice their misgivings about Cressida’s new role.
“Then they should be pleased I’m following the dictates of the ancient grimoire to destroy our ancient foe.” Cressida returned her gaze to the large screens lining one of the walls of the tastefully decorated sitting room of her New York City apartment. There were two dozen screens here showing various positions around the witch compound, a vast network of rooms beneath some of the city’s most prized real estate. While not entirely soundproofed from the rush and rumble of the subway trains that ran nearly constantly around them, it remained the safest, most secure holding pen for untested threats. That was part of the reason the entire coven had assembled here rather than in their usual location in upstate New York.
The other part of the reason had to do with the city itself. New York City was a cauldron of ancient magic, but not because it, in and of itself, was particularly magical. It had simply been fallow land hundreds of years ago when travelers sought opportunities and safety in the New World. But many of those travelers had been witches, psychics, and adherents to the occult. Some had been outlaws, some refugees, but all of them converged on the city in a great tide of magical strength. The city, in turn, had adapted.
There were many magical places in the world, but New York was one of the few that could absorb an influx of magic with n
o more than the lift of one aristocratically arched eyebrow. The old-world cities in Europe could as well, but they were across the ocean, not a short train ride away. For what the Scepter Coven needed, New York City was perfect.
What was not perfect was having her very first decision as high priestess of the coven second-guessed. She only had a few minutes before the others arrived, so she pressed Fraya for more information. “Have they shared specific concerns?”
Fraya thinned her lips, clearly uncomfortable, as if betraying a secret. But, as Cressida suspected she had since Cressida was a young child, the head lawgiver decided in favor of her charge above all else. “There are those who feel that Marcus could overcome you in a fight,” she said. “That he has grown too strong.”
Cressida blinked. This, she hadn’t expected. “But Marcus is my ally. There’d be no reason for us to fight.” True enough, Marcus was uniquely powerful among the male witches of the coven, and he’d grown only stronger since a wave of rogue magic had swept across the world several weeks earlier. That wave had also let loose a horde of demons who were even now marshaling their forces, demons who had swelled the ranks of the beasts who had attacked the witches of the Serbian coven.
Which meant the attack Cressida was preparing against Ahriman couldn’t be better timed. Too many demons had been set free upon the earth, too quickly. The balance of power between witch and demon had decidedly changed.
But that ripple of magic had not been an entirely unhelpful turn of events for the witches of the world. With so much raw magic to work with, accomplished witches like Marcus had found themselves with new and better tools at their disposal. Given his dedication to the dark arts, he had quickly ramped up his own abilities to wield those tools. It was the sort of initiative Cressida appreciated in a man. And, unlike the other witches of her coven, she didn’t fear it. She welcomed it.
That said, she couldn’t discount the concerns of the coven out of hand. While the Scepter Coven historically had been run by women, there was no dictate that this must always remain the case. Male witches of sufficient strength could take over the coven. Marcus would be the most likely candidate to do so—though he’d never given any indication that he wanted that. Despite not wanting her physically, he appeared to want them to rule together, not apart.
And she was stronger than him, still…wasn’t she?
Either way, she sensed the worry rolling off her beloved mentor, and her first and fiercest thought was to put the older woman at ease.
“There’ll be an accounting of the consorts I’ve chosen,” she said. “Marcus has given no one any reason to doubt his loyalty to the coven and to the ancient dictates of the grimoire. You know that as well as I do.”
“I do,” Fraya said staunchly. “But I didn’t wrap you in the mantle of priestess so he could wrest it from you.”
“Of course you didn’t,” Cressida agreed, startled by Fraya’s show of loyalty. Marcus was the head lawgiver’s protégé as well…her preferred protégé, Cressida had often thought. To feel Fraya’s unequivocal support straightened Cressida’s spine as a knock sounded at the door to her apartment.
She turned as the other members of the coven’s ruling council filed into the room—a half-dozen elders and lawgivers, all female, all passionately dedicated to the coven. Like her, they all also owned high-ticket apartments in New York’s West Side. The apartments had been coven property since the 1800s, managed by families who’d been loyal to the witches since they’d first lived together in the old world. It gave a whole new meaning to rent control.
Now the coven leadership gathered in the airy salon of Cressida’s apartment, their eyes on the multiple screens that extended down from the ceiling, covering the seventeenth-century artwork. Watching them, Cressida drew in a deep breath. It was time for her to reveal at least part of her plan, since it had been set in motion.
Whenever a marriage was arranged for the good of the coven, the consort—or consorts, in her case—needed to be approved by the coven leadership. Later, there would be the grand ball where her consorts were presented to the coven as a whole, but this far more intimate look was on a need-to-know basis only. And she would give them a full accounting.
“We are here to present my consorts for your review, but before we do, there is something you must know.” She met the impassive gazes of the lawgivers and the elders, including Elysium Gray, the most recent high priestess. Cressida had no doubt Elysium was one of the witches sowing concerns about Cressida’s fitness to rule, despite the fact that Elysium had acknowledged her own inability to adequately take on Ahriman. “There is much that the sacred grimoire assumes, but little that it mandates. I will pass the sacred cup with the five members of my retinue, and we will be joined in power, such that I may draw on their strength to defeat Ahriman. But none—none of my consorts will share my bed. You need to know that, even if no one else does.”
An audible rustle moved through the women surrounding Cressida—some sighing with relief, some dismay. To her surprise, Fraya spoke first.
“Then it’s good that you’ve consummated your relationship already with Marcus.”
Cressida blanched. The head lawgiver knew very well she hadn’t done any such thing. She’d been the one to comfort Cressida after Marcus’s first rejection. “Well, I—”
“You have. You don’t need to be shy,” Fraya said, her measured tones drowning out Cressida’s reply. “The witch who confronts Ahriman must be fully prepared. You are. These others”—she gestured airily to the screens—“are necessary only for you to draw upon their strength.”
More murmurs from the older women, and even Elysium nodded. “That makes…much more sense,” Elysium said. “No one would wish you to be forced to lie with a demon, no matter what the ancient grimoire assumed.”
“Then we are—” But before Fraya could finish her pronouncement, Cressida held up her hand. The head lawgiver fell obediently silent, though Cressida couldn’t understand her flat, wary expression. Why did Fraya want her to lie?
Regardless of the reason, she clearly did. And so…Cressida would lie. It was as simple as that.
“The matter is settled, then,” Cressida said. “When you view these consorts, don’t consider them as anything more than power sources, and focus on what spells we should construct to direct that power.”
She turned to the screens. “Boltar,” she murmured, and the voice-activated console flashed and whirred, the first screen filling with the image of Boltar’s immense form sitting at the table of platters and goblets demolished of food and drained of drink. Even sedated, the demon maintained his glamour, as all demons did in the presence of humans unless they were under extreme duress. Not that demons didn’t enjoy scaring the pants off humans, but a human sufficiently frightened by the sight of a demon was extremely likely to summon a Syx. No demon wanted that.
Certainly not this one. Boltar’s large, bulbous, but very human-looking head was flung back, his mouth open in a snore, his heavy arms hanging at his sides.
“Remove the filter,” Cressida said without preamble, following that order with the murmured invocation of the spell of revealing. Some things were better handled quickly. From the gasp of her sisters, she was correct in assuming this was one of them.
Boltar’s glamour fell away. It was one of the Scepter Coven’s most powerful spells, and a critical one to be able to correctly identify the most ancient of the horde. With it, they could see Boltar as his god had made him. His god, and his own depravity.
Smaller than his glamour indicated, he was a singularly ferocious-looking beast, with spikes that stuck out from every square inch of his skin and a heavy brow lined with three more sets of spikes, the tips of which glistened with what had to be poison. Cressida leaned forward, unable to control her interest.
“It’s a secretion like tetrodotoxin,” Elysium said, her voice tempered with professional curiosity and maybe even a little interest. “We could distill that, use it as a weap
on.”
Dahlia snorted. “We could, but we’d have to milk him like a cow. I don’t relish the thought of that.”
“He’s a demon,” Cressida said. “He would give it up to us willingly—or not willingly, but he’d give it up—if we demand it of him.”
“And you are to be his consort.” Another voice sounded in the room, an ancient witch dressed in dark ceremonial robes. “Now that you’ve reached your full strength as high priestess, you can command all of them. It’s a very powerful weapon you’ve drawn to us.”
Cressida winced. This was why she’d wanted to tell them the truth about Marcus’s change of heart regarding the two of them, but that was clearly a discussion for another day. For the moment, only Fraya knew the truth. And, of course, Marcus.
But the elderly lawgiver was clearly waiting for a response. “I serve to strengthen the coven,” Cressida finally said, then switched her gaze to the second screen. “Zeneschiah.”
The screen flashed to life, and a second demon presented himself, this one smaller in size and not gorging on the food that was laid out for his delectation. Cressida tensed. They had prepared all the temptations a demon could want, save those of a sexual nature, but they needed the demons laid out and asleep to unmask them. And Zeneschiah was asleep on his bed—or he appeared to be.
“Closer,” she murmured.
The camera dutifully zoomed in, and then she saw it. Zeneschiah’s head had fallen over onto his arm, an arm that was tied off with a strap, one of the sleeves rolled high. She couldn’t see the hypodermic needle, but she didn’t need to. A drug strong enough to knock out a demon was difficult for ordinary humans to come by, but the Scepter Coven had been cooking such pharmaceuticals for the past fifty years. There was no stronger magic than that which the Scepter Coven could wield against the demon horde…but humans were not so well prepared. The coven had planned on releasing the demon-debilitating drugs into the pharmaceutical pipeline later that year, but Ahriman’s arrival on the scene, and his deadly rampage against the ancient Serbian coven, took precedence.
