“And where’s the chalice?” Carrick inquired, not expecting an honest answer.
She shrugged. “Laying around here somewhere. It’s useless, though.”
Which implied to Carrick, if she were being honest, that she managed to move the power from the chalice into the stone. It was probably no different than holding the chalice with the gem attached but having the infinite abilities all within the stone made it more convenient to wear it around her neck.
The question was… did she know how to wield all that power?
Carrick wasn’t afraid to find out.
In the blink of an eye, he bent distance up to the balcony, stepping out behind her. Before she could turn around, he launched a front snap kick to her lower back. The force was that of a high-speed train, and he heard her spine snap. Kymaris’ body actually shredded the iron railing before she went free-falling to the tile foyer below.
Carrick didn’t even wait for her to hit before jumping after her.
But if he thought that kick had put her out of commission, he’d be wrong. She had already healed and rolled to her back. Holding both hands out, she threw a shield around her body that Carrick bounced off when he came crashing down toward her, causing him to roll toward the base of the staircase.
Kymaris scrambled to her feet, and Carrick did the same. There was a pool of blood on the tile. Carrick realized that some of the iron railing must have punctured her abdomen, but that was most likely healed the same as her broken spine. It didn’t slow her down in the slightest as she conjured an iron sword and came at him swiftly.
Raising it above her shoulder, she lunged at Carrick and brought the weapon down in a hacking motion. He easily sidestepped and it clanged off the iron banister of the staircase, causing sparks to fly.
Rotating his wrist, an iron broadsword appeared in Carrick’s hand. It was six inches longer than the one Kymaris held and twice as wide. With a two-handed grip, he swung it in an arc over his shoulder and made the same slicing motion she had tried on him a moment ago. It would have cleaved her in half had she not jumped backward, and the blade missed her by mere inches.
It was just the beginning.
Carrick and Kymaris, in almost mirror images of the other, once again swung their respective swords high over their shoulders, both intending to end the battle with one well-aimed strike. The iron weapons clashed above their heads, throwing more sparks.
Over and over again, they swung, parried, clashed, jumped, spun, and lunged at each other. They traded vicious blows and, admittedly, Carrick was surprised that her physical strength seemed to be on par with his own.
She didn’t, however, have his stamina, which was what set apart fae and demi-gods in battle.
Eventually, Kymaris started retreating more than she advanced, and a fine sweat broke out on her forehead. Carrick puzzled why she wasn’t pulling on the Blood Stone, but he didn’t dwell on it too long. He was tiring of this duel, not in strength or stamina but in interest.
He wanted to end this evil creature and get back to Finley so they could move on with their lives.
After causing Kymaris to jump back to avoid a lunge that would have gone through her breastbone like it was butter, Carrick conjured rope and magically lassoed it around her ankles. He pulled hard, causing her legs to snap together and her body to topple to the tile floor.
She didn’t stay down long. With her own magic, she made the ropes disappear and she went to her elbow to push herself up.
It was too late for her, though.
Carrick was over her, once again gripping the hilt of his sword with both hands. He wound up a swing over her shoulder, he brought it down toward Kymaris’ head. He could actually envision the blade crushing her skull and scrambling her brains, but a mere foot from making contact, another sword appeared out of thin air and blocked Carrick’s strike.
It was startling to see Kymaris’ savior standing there, his own broad sword held with bulging muscles to protect his queen.
Amell.
Wings tucked behind his back, dressed head to toe in leather, and looking rageful.
Carrick held his tongue as well as his expression of recognition. Despite the fact Amell was here and declaring his loyalty to Kymaris in this fight, Carrick would never betray that Amell had been the one helping Zora in the Underworld.
And, for some annoying reason, Carrick second-guessed whether he should kill Amell along with Kymaris.
The hesitation cost him and Amell pulled his sword up viciously, causing Carrick’s to lift away from Kymaris, who rolled away to safety. He then gave a mighty shove that caused Carrick to stumble back a few feet.
And then the demi-god faced off against the Dark Fae.
Before either could throw the first strike, Maddox came sliding into the foyer, apparently running toward the sound of clashing weapons. Carrick had no clue whether Maddox had found other fae in the house or not, but he thought not because he was weaponless.
That didn’t last long as Maddox conjured his own sword and positioned himself beside Carrick to face Amell.
Kymaris slowly rose to her feet, leaving her own sword on the tile floor. She moved to Amell’s side, and it was now two demi-gods facing two Dark Fae.
Admittedly, Carrick didn’t actually want to kill Amell because he knew it would sadden Zora, but he loved Finley and his loyalty was to her. It was Maddox, however, who took a slight step forward and to the side until he lined up directly across from the winged fae.
Given how he’d slept with Zora, Carrick figured Maddox had no such weakness of conscience. He therefore squared up to Kymaris, wondering why she left her sword on the floor.
He almost thought to ask her—in a taunting way, of course, for he meant to kill her swiftly—but before he could even open his mouth, Kymaris smiled at him victoriously.
The gemstone on her chest went from the blackened reddish color to a bright glowing crimson, and Carrick could feel the immense power surrounding them. It hummed with menace. Before he could even think to defend himself or his brother, a wave of dark magic hit him dead in the center of his chest.
Maddox, too, and both demi-gods were lifted off their feet and propelled backward toward the front door they had come in ten minutes earlier.
The force was so immense, the brothers crashed through the door, shredding wood, nails, and support beams in the process. Chunks of drywall and stucco were ground to fine dust from the blast of power.
Carrick and Maddox were launched as if fired from a cannon, and their bodies crashed down onto the limestone pebbled driveway some fifty feet from the front of the house.
It was a shocking show of force by Kymaris, but it wasn’t enough to even scratch the brothers. They both jumped to their feet, new swords conjured since the other ones were knocked free of their hands, and they went rushing back into the villa.
Up the portico steps, through the massive hole in the front of the house, and into an empty foyer littered with dust and debris.
Amell and Kymaris were gone.
“Fuck,” Maddox growled, then took off running down the hall he’d gone down before. They couldn’t assume that just because Amell and Kymaris were no longer in the foyer that they’d left the villa.
Carrick moved up the staircase to the top landing where just minutes ago he’d launched Kymaris through the metal railing. He ran his fingers over the still-intact railing and felt the iron within it. He remembered her going through, knew the metal had cut her, but he didn’t recall her skin sizzling. He could have missed it, of course, but his gut instinct told him that Kymaris had some immunity against iron now. That had to be from the Blood Stone, and it had clearly given her forceful magic that, while it didn’t kill Carrick and Maddox, it put them at a disadvantage with the way she used it.
He was efficient in checking each of the rooms, but there was no sign of Kymaris, Amell, or any other fae or daemons. As she had declared, she must have transported everyone out the minute the demi-gods had arrived.
Carrick moved back down the stairs, seeing Maddox standing there. With slight surprise, he noted Circe, the god of Fate was there, too. Ironic that she was here because Carrick had just failed in exercising free will to circumvent Finley’s fate to save the world. Perhaps she felt the need to lecture.
Maddox and Circe’s heads swiveled up to watch him descend the stairs. He’d banished his sword after he’d checked the last room.
Circe was styled typically—fifty’s pinup model—with a dress showcasing her ample bust, a well fit waistline, and billowy skirt. Her platinum hair was done in a sleek pageboy style and red lipstick was the only makeup on her perfect face.
As Carrick came off the last step of the staircase, Circe gave him an admonishing look. “You knew this wouldn’t play out the way you wanted.”
Carrick hadn’t known that. He came in with full hope that he could end this today, but he didn’t feel like arguing with the god. He merely shrugged and said, “Had to try.”
“Well, you can rest assured that Kymaris and her crew will go into very deep hiding until the ritual starts,” Circe observed, clasping her hands before her. “And Finley will meet her fate on that evening.”
“That’s helpful to know,” Maddox said dryly. “As we have no idea where the ritual will be held or what time, so I’m going to assume fate will let us know at some point.”
Circe shot him a fierce glare. “Don’t wait on fate to do your work. Free will still needs to be exercised.”
“Why can’t you just pick one or the other?” he grumbled, but he said no more.
The gods couldn’t interfere, but it didn’t mean they couldn’t give advice or guidance if requested. It didn’t mean they would grant it, but Carrick asked anyway. “Clearly, Finley must meet her destiny and stop the prophecy herself. We’ve been assuming that means she has to take on Kymaris and have also been assuming that she can have others help as Kymaris will bring her own legions to the battle.”
Carrick let the words hang in the air, silently requesting that Circe confirm their assumptions. She merely smiled, tipped her head, and said, “That sounds fairly reasonable.”
Not direct advice that would help them make sound decisions, but enough to know they were on the right path. They needed to assemble as much of an army to their side to battle whatever might be coming out of the veil if Kymaris was successful. It would be the Earth realm’s only shot at being saved, which meant they had a lot of work over the next nine days.
Carrick bowed slightly in Circe’s direction. “Thank you for your guidance.”
“But I really haven’t given any,” she proclaimed with a wink.
Carrick grinned in return. “The god of Fate’s gloating presence here in the face of our failure makes things clear. Thus, it is guidance.”
“Smart demi-god,” Circe cooed.
She blew Maddox a kiss, then Carrick, before blinking out of sight.
“Let’s go home,” Carrick said wearily. “We need to start heavily recruiting to help battle against the ritual.”
The demi-god brothers bent distance. In the blink of an eye, they were stepping into the living area of the condo.
Where they found Zaid tied up and sitting on the couch, looking highly annoyed.
CHAPTER 20
Finley
I pull my whip free from the holster but leave it coiled as I hold it. Boral has a gun in hand as we stand at the back door of the gallery. We left Zora in the G550 to wait for us, and I glance back. She’s leaning forward between the front seats, arms perched on the center console watching us through the windshield.
My gaze moves to Boral. “Ready?
He gives me a curt nod, and I take a moment to enjoy just how far Boral has come with our group. I’m going into a dangerous situation, and he’s the only one to have my back. I trust him implicitly.
Reaching out, I put my hand on the lever handle and let my magic flow through it, imagining the interior tumblers spinning to align for my magical key. The lock releases with a soft snick, and I push down on it slowly.
When I pull, the heavy metal door opens with a slight woosh and Boral precedes me in, gun locked and loaded, held out before him as he sweeps the area.
The loading room is empty with well-worn floors where boxes and crates were received and opened before moving into the main gallery down the hall. The hallway leading into the showroom is closed off from the loading room with dual swinging metal doors, each one with glass panes at the top so employees could see if someone was on the other side before they went barreling through with a dolly holding a large sculpture.
Swiftly, Boral moves left and I go right, so if anyone is in the hall or the part of the gallery that can see down to the loading room doors, we’re not spotted. We position ourselves across from each other, and Boral takes a quick peek through the glass before pulling back out of sight.
He looks across at me and shakes his head, meaning he didn’t see anyone.
As I explained to Boral, the hall leads into the main gallery. Along the way, there will be a bathroom on the left, an office on the right, and a small break room past that, also on the right.
We figured Blain would be in one of those rooms, but I had imagined the daemon or two guarding him would possibly be roaming the hall or gallery. However, they could be way too settled in their guard duties, having successfully held him prisoner for weeks without any issues. It’s just as likely they’re in the small break room watching TV and eating Hot Pockets.
Boral jerks his head toward the hall on the other side of the doors, indicating he’s ready to move. I nod, confident in our plan to just storm in. One or two unsuspecting daemons would be easy to dispatch. The most perilous thing we’d be facing was to make sure Blain stayed safe if there was a big battle.
Shifting forward, Boral looks through the glass again. The hallway is apparently empty as he puts his shoulder to the door and slowly pushes it open. He slips through, and I follow behind him. As we had discussed in our impromptu plans, given that he’s immortal and I’m not, he’d go first and act as a shield for me if things go badly.
Boral creeps down the tiled hallway, and I do the same. We reach the bathroom door on the left first and see that it’s partially open but the light is out. Boral pushes it all the way open, letting the light shine in from the hall.
Empty.
He then moves to the office, where we suspect Blain might be. The door is closed and Boral walks past it just a few feet, his eyes moving between the next closed door to the break room and the large gallery just beyond in case someone should come from there. It’s up to me to check out the office.
I reach out to the doorknob, twisting it slowly, and when it’s unlatched, I throw it open in case daemons are inside, hoping they’ll be startled. At the same time, I immediately throw up my shield in front of me in case they get off a hastily tossed weapon.
But inside, I find only Blain and my heart sinks when I see him.
“Christ,” I mutter, latching my whip back to my holster. I instruct Boral, “Keep watch while I untie him.”
I move swiftly inside and across the room where Blain is tied with rope around his hands and ankles. He’s lying on his side on the cold, bare floor, and he hadn’t even twitched when I threw the door open. My heart pounding, I squat and press my fingertips to his carotid artery.
There’s immediate relief that his skin is warm, and it takes only a second or two to feel the rhythmic beat of his pulse.
I don’t know if he’s drugged or just exhausted, but he doesn’t move when I touch him. His face is covered in bruises, old and new, so he’s clearly been taking some regular beatings. My guess is it’s just for fun because he’s clearly subdued. He’s also lost a lot of weight. I see it within his gaunt, pale face the most.
With no time to work on knots, I use my magic to undo them and free his wrists and ankles. Putting my hand on his shoulder, I give him a shake. “Blain… I need you to wake up.”
He doesn’t move.
&nb
sp; I glance back at the doorway, noting Boral has moved to it so I can see him, but his attention is still focused on the gallery.
I shake Blain a little harder, but still keep my voice at a whisper. “Blain. Come on. Wake up.”
He groans, sucks in a deep breath, and lets it out in a slight snore. He’s either been drugged or he’s under some type of spell, but clearly this is why they feel comfortable leaving him here on the floor and unguarded.
I rise and move back to the doorway, murmuring to Boral. “He’s out cold. I can’t lift him so you’re going to have to carry him out of here.”
Boral leans back a bit to look past me to Blain. He grimaces in distaste, but nods his head in agreement. Tucking his gun in the back waistband of his belted pants, he enters the office and I exit to keep watch. At this point, it’s so quiet I’m fairly sure we’re all alone in here, but I know better than to let my guard down. The door to the breakroom is closed, and there could be daemons in there.
With a quick glance, I see Boral reach down. With his super fae strength, he lifts Blain easily as if he were no more than a feather pillow he was tossing over his shoulder. He has him in a fireman’s carry and grips onto his legs with one hand while reaching back and getting his gun to hold in the other.
“Let’s go,” Boral murmurs as he moves into the hallway. Turning left, he heads toward the double doors leading to the loading room.
I give him my back, keeping my eyes toward the gallery. I start walking backward, past the bathroom. I’m almost to the double doors that I heard Boral move through, because I’m sure I heard Blain’s head thunk against the metal, when movement catches my eye.
At first, it’s just a shadow moving at the edge of the hallway that borders the gallery, and I realize it’s someone moving our way.
“Someone’s coming,” I hiss at Boral, but the doors have already swung shut again and I’m betting he didn’t hear me.
I decide to pivot fast and bolt, but, before I can, four daemons appear in the hallway entrance from the showroom.
Not one or two as Echo claimed, but four.
The Rise of Fortune and Fury Page 20
