When Asher gave me a rakish smirk, I knew he realized it was just an excuse to put some much-needed distance between us.
He shoved his hand through his tuft of thick hair and sighed. “I’m sorry, I was being an ass.”
“Your words, not mine,” I teased. I was so close to him that I could see the darker hues of gray in his eyes. Unnatural heat came off him, a reminder of how warm shifters ran. Maybe that was the reason they preferred to be naked after a change. Or maybe they just liked to be naked.
“We’re going to get a Xios or its equivalent, send Ian’s ass back where he belongs, and if I can lock down the Veil, I’ll try to do that, too,” I said confidently, knowing the latter part was contingent on me completing Mephisto’s job. But there was enough truth to it that it got past Asher. After I had my own magic, locking the Veil down would be a priority.
Asher’s finger lightly brushing against my cheek startled me. Not the touch, but me leaning into it and staying there for several moments.
“Are things good between you and Cory?” I finally asked.
Asher opened the door, his hand pressed to my back as he guided me out. His only answer to my question was his lips pursing into a tight line.
He didn’t return to his seat but moved to another section of the plane. It made it harder to convince Cory that things were fine between them. I wasn’t sure I believed they were.
“This is it,” Cory said, pointing to the warded area that when viewed with nonmagical senses led the eyes to believe there were just mountains, small caves, sparse trees, and quiet serenity. The repulsion spell divested anyone of the desire to explore the area, urging them a few miles farther away.
Extremely perceptive humans and supernaturals could detect the seams of wards, unlike Mirras which were flawless in their construct. The tell on this one was the faint gold shimmer that appeared near the tree, easy to miss if you weren’t looking for it.
Cory took longer working the ward, because he wasn’t trying to break it but create a passage for us to slip through.
“Is it hard?” I asked after ten minutes had passed, far longer than it had ever taken him to bring down a ward before.
“Not hard, just fragile. We’re not doing ourselves any favors by bringing down this witch’s ward. This is a test. We enter without dismantling it and I guess we’re proven worthy to go into the Forest,” he speculated. “Why powerful people are so needlessly eccentric, I’ll never know. How hard is it to have a power word that allows entrance, then hear the person out? Why make us go through this?” Cory frowned and blew out a breath.
Fifteen minutes later we were passing through a narrow opening that led us directly to the entrance of the cave. A stream of water forced us to the side, walking on the broken rocks following the path of the stream. The earthy dankness became overpowering the farther we advanced. Asher’s lithe, silent movement over the uneven terrain made me nervous, making me grateful that Cory’s and my steps echoing throughout the space were announcing our approach. No one wants to be startled by unexpected quests.
Our forehead lights illuminated the passageway. I could see Asher’s face wrinkling at the strong smells. It wasn’t unpleasant, but flowery scents coming from a cave was unexpected.
“Yes,” a voice croaked in the darkness.
After the voice whispered an invocation, the cave illuminated. Scanning the area, I couldn’t find the source of light. A broad man sat on what appeared to be a throne of rocks. The jowls on his round face moved ever so slightly with the slightest movement of his head as he surveyed each of us. The incongruous scent of ginger that wafted from him mingled with the floral, mineral, and dank odors that surrounded us. He didn’t smell like a witch, but I remember being told that entry to the Forest was guarded by one. The ginger had to be masking the earthy scent that I associated with witch magic.
His cornhusk complexion had streaks of red along the bridge of his nose. Slouching on his throne of rocks and minerals made his stout body seem shorter and rounder.
“What do you need?” he inquired curtly. There wasn’t going to be any idle pleasantries. Not too many people were trekking across the country to go to the forest affiliated with hell. It was a sign of desperation.
The cave guardian’s hands were clasped over his stomach, and his disinterest was apparent. This wasn’t a calling as much as an indentured servitude. I thought back to my research in Simeon’s library. The guardian’s family was responsible for a spell that destroyed the Forest hundreds of years ago. As punishment, a tree nymph bound their magic to the forest and its immediate environs. If the Forest was destroyed or in danger, so was their magic, therefore they protected it fiercely.
“Conparco Shield,” I offered.
“Anything else?”
“Xios or its equivalent.”
“I hope the person you plan to imprison with it deserves such punishment,” he said, his voice taking on a sharper, colder edge, undoubtedly taking issue with it because of his current predicament. He allowed several moments to pass as he treated us to his judgmental and reprimanding gaze.
“I don’t have one here,” he finally said before quickly returning to his sedate mood.
Without further questioning, magic pulsed in the enclosed space. Embers floated through the air forming an arc of light that danced a chaotic allegro. Another wave of his hand and a sharp command made the stone wall behind him separate. The light zipped out of the opening.
“You need to follow it, that’s your guide,” he said, responding to our wide-eyed expressions.
“Thank you,” Cory and I offered together. Something in me wanted to withhold my gratitude because this seemed too easy. Nothing about obtaining powerful magical objects was ever this easy. Asher must have shared the same sentiment because he didn’t offer any words of appreciation, just a simple nod.
“I assure you, nothing about finding the Conparco Shield will make you thank me. I only lead you on the journey. I’m not responsible for any impediments you encounter during it.” Hints of rue lingered in his voice. “Go,” he ordered with a wave.
“It can’t be this easy,” Asher whispered as we did another quick check of our supplies in our bags. We’d prepared for a day of hiking: water, dried food and nuts, weapons that could fit in the bag, and ingredients for spells in Cory’s. Asher had a change of clothes in his. I was glad he had negated Cory’s potential need to have to clothe him. To most, seeing witches clothe someone was like witnessing a live action performance of a fairytale. A wave of their wand or hand and bibbidi-bobbidi-boo, the person is clothed. It wasn’t that simple.
Witches had to pull clothing from the ether, which took strong magic. Cory once described it as searching an obscure closet where you had to be attuned to what you needed. It took more effort than it appeared to, which was the reason I had been fine with Asher staying in his birthday suit if he had to rip his clothing during a change. Now, I wouldn’t have to decide between spending the rest of the journey looking at Asher’s bare ass and naughty bits or sacrificing Cory’s magical energy.
After the recheck, we followed the illumination over the rocks. The light seemed sentient, flickering impatiently while Cory and I climbed slowly over the jagged rocks of the mountainside. Asher’s preternatural grace, speed, and agility became increasingly frustrating as the light beat in an impatient glow and Asher waited for us to catch up.
“I can do without the smirk,” I told him the third time he had to wait. “And the show,” I snipped as he effortlessly lingered on the edge of the mountain.
The inner debate of whether to release the silver spark of energy easing from Cory’s finger in Asher’s direction to unbalance him was clear on Cory’s face. I shot him a warning look and he extinguished the spark.
The steady beat of the light was needed as we continued up a trail, the sun suddenly shadowing, taking away the light and leaving us in dusk. When the light zipped away, its glow nearly four hundred feet from us, I assumed it had gone to the location of t
he shield. The brilliant flicker continued as we made our way toward it, Asher taking the lead, his gaze sweeping the area, nose flaring to take in the scents. His ears twitched ever so slightly.
“There’s movement,” he declared, as he snatched an arrow out of the air just a few inches from my face.
“Fuck,” Cory hissed, looking at the arrow in Asher’s hand.
“I knew it was too easy,” I admitted with the breath I’d been holding since Asher stopped me from being stabbed in the face.
Cory erected a magical field that would only offer moments of reprieve. Magical fields protected against magic but not bullets and knives and, I was willing to bet, arrows either. That was humans’ advantage against magic. Weapons of destruction weren’t stopped by magical barriers.
“I’ll go for the Conparco Shield and you cover me,” I directed, looking at the trek of grass, bosky areas, and uneven terrain between me and my destination. Its harmless appearance didn’t fool me. Double karambit in one hand and knife in the other, I nodded for Cory to drop the field.
Asher’s attention immediately went to the blade he’d given me. His gift of the well-crafted weapon with a sturdy handle and good balance had me quickly discarding my plans to keep it in the pretty box it came in. Its function appealed to me more than its aesthetics. The hardness of the mother-of-pearl handle was useful.
The shift in Asher’s eyes and the lamination that overtook them. With predatory interest, he took in the surroundings, his deft readiness showing that the man shell had been shelved. The moment the protective covering dropped, I darted toward the light, Asher to the left toward the direction the arrow had come from, and Cory covered the right. Running fast, I negotiated the uneven surfaces, changing direction sharply when an arrow whizzed by me. Zigging and zagging to prevent being an easy target, I continued toward the crowd of trees until the pain of an arrow grazing my shoulder made me halt. Blood trickled down my arm, but the injury wasn’t deep. It could have been worse.
I kept racing toward the thicket of trees that would keep me shielded from the sniper, unless there were more waiting in the woods. The thump of a body landing hard on the ground and a deafening growl caused me to turn. Asher snatched someone, or something, out of a tree. It was surprising to see him still in human form when the sound he made wasn’t anything a human could produce.
At the mouth of the forest, the guide light beat in a steady rhythm. I became wary of the odd movement of the trees. Some trunks were only partially rooted into the ground, the other part loose. Exceedingly long, wiry branches extended too far. The ones that looked like simple trees, interwoven between the strange ones, gave me a sense of foreboding.
I felt ridiculous waiting for a tree to attack me until something thrashed into my back. The sting lingered and I could feel the welt rising. The blade of my karambit ripped through the other branch that lashed out at me. Quickly, I started slicing through the branches striking out at me, vines punching from the ground and snaking around my legs, and the abnormal movement of trees bending to strike at my face. Bark was spat in my direction and wind violently hit me, obstructing my vision. I felt unexpected relief. If that was the best hell’s forest had to offer, I was fine.
Minutes passed while I surveyed the mass of severed branches and vines, motionless in my path—the way they should be.
“Oh,” whimpered a soft voice carried by the breeze. Spinning around, I looked for the owner of the melancholic voice. A few feet away, a slender, average-height woman slowly approached. Her hunter-green tunic and dark-brown leggings reminded me of the trees she seemed to be mourning. Her gaze dropped periodically from me to the limbs and vines littering the ground. Two knives were sheathed at the belt on her waist, and she had a bow in her hand and seven arrows in her quiver.
Molten chocolate eyes promised retribution. She advanced slowly but stopped. Lowering the bow she was carrying, she returned the arrows to her quiver. There was anguish in her eyes. She yanked both knives from their sheaths with the grace and precision of one who had done this before.
“The trees attacked me first, I was just defending myself.” I couldn’t believe that was a thing I had to say. But here I was, in Dante’s Forest, defending my tree murder and dismemberment.
“They were just doing their job.”
“And I was just defending myself.”
Knives still gripped in her hands, she waved to the right at the pile of severed tree bodies, or whatever she would call it. I held my blade out and readied my karambit.
“You ‘defended’ yourself with the brutality of a common monster,” she scoffed.
“Should I have let them beat me and whip me on the ground until I was unconscious?” I was seriously defending my right to keep from being assaulted by a tree. How is this my life?
Her advance was slow and her magic was strong. It complemented the oaky smell that mingled with cinnamon. Witch. Earth witch. Like Madison, the witch could draw from the earth for her magic. Based on her anguish over the brutalization of her trees, she didn’t have to kill them to do so.
“Such brutality must be met with the same,” she announced as she charged. A back flip allowed me to dodge her quicker-than-anticipated jab. The knife punched at empty air. I slashed out at her with the karambit, missing her by a fraction of an inch. A well-aimed spin kick slammed into my left shoulder, unbalancing me. Pain blazed through me when her blade sliced through my arm. Blood. The last thing I needed was to fight a witch while bleeding. Not knowing the extent of her blood magic ability left me at a disadvantage.
She simply smiled at the blood running down my arm. I shuffled back several feet and kept a careful eye on her lips. Relief flooded me when only a smile of satisfaction offered me some comfort that she wasn’t going to use my blood for a spell.
“You were bold in your murder but timid in paying for your crimes.”
Once again, I was being forced to defend myself against tree fighting. Before I could finish my defense, her knife flew at me. The blade of the karambit knocked it off course. As she took a furtive glance behind her, probably looking for her discarded bow, I exploded in her direction with all that I had and slammed into her. Her blade plunged into my leg. Ignoring the pain, I fixed her to the ground. Fear-widened eyes met mine when I held the blade of the karambit at her throat. She struggled under me until the words of power ended and she eased into the state of in-between, her face frozen in a peaceful rest.
Sucking in sharp breaths through clenched teeth, I pulled the witch’s knife out of my leg and rested against the trunk of a tree. Responding to the padding behind me, I rolled from my position and aimed my karambit at the wolf.
“Asher,” I whispered his name through a sigh of relief. An arrow had pierced his blood-matted fur. Scanning the area, I quickly found the knife I’d lost when I crashed into the witch. Asher shook his head, informing me that I had nothing to worry about. He gave a low rumble and jerked his head toward the arrow. Moving to him, I knelt next to him. He remained stoic as I yanked out the arrow, which was fine because I winced, shrieked, and groaned for the both of us. The moment the arrow was removed from the wolf, there was a naked man sprawled on the ground in front of me, next to the bag he’d dragged with him.
He stood and I looked at him as if he was fully dressed. Shifters being out seemed to produce the same effect that being on a nude beach does—make you indifferent about naked bodies. Even ones that featured defined lines separating their abs. Even one with sinewy pecs and bulging arms that contracted and relaxed with the slightest movement. I jerked my eyes up before they could travel below the modesty line, earning me a snort of laughter from Asher.
“Cory,” Asher said, in a slightly raised voice, then he waited expectantly.
“He’s not a shifter, he can’t hear that,” I reminded him. The annoyance that shifters and vamps had with others made sense. When you could just slightly raise your voice and people responded, running at a speed that would earn a gold medal, seeing unimpeded at nightfal
l, then it was a hassle dealing with the “normal,” even if they possessed magic. Cory had tried on many occasions to replicate their gifts with magic. If he wanted to see better at night, he did a lighting spell. Moving faster involved Wynding, which Cory, like most witches, couldn’t do without a powerful magical charm. Despite Cory’s impressive physique, he couldn’t effortlessly lift another human being, whereas shifters did it without significant exertion.
“I wish the trees would stop talking.” Asher frowned as he continued to survey the area.
“What?”
He trained his eyes on the sleeping witch. “They’re mourning her,” he offered. Leaning toward the tree closest to me, I strained to hear something. Nothing.
Asher closed his eyes. While he listened intently, I focused on the rapidly healing wound on his side. Seeing a naked shifter gets old quickly, but watching injuries mend in fast motion was always entrancing. Tissue meshing and binding, healing itself. Witnessing something that occurs in a matter of weeks take place in a matter of minutes was something I’d never gotten used to.
“Cory’s coming. His steps are heavy but I don’t think he’s injured. He walks like a Clydesdale.” Asher’s words echoed the derision on his face. “There were five protectors of the forest. They’ve all been disabled.”
I hesitated but needed to know. “Disabled?”
“They’re alive. Their duty to protect doesn’t deserve a death sentence.”
My gaze followed his as it moved to the dead-looking witch.
“I’ll wake her,” I told him.
“When?” Cory asked as he approached us.
“I don’t have an iridium brace and when I wake her, she’s going to want to retaliate.”
Her magic pulsed through me, sating the emptiness that had deepened after the option of the Mystic Souls was taken from me and the option of Mephisto giving me his magic slipped away. Cory’s soft brown eyes stayed on mine. He moved to stand directly in front of me, his eyes filling with empathy even as his lips dipped into a frown.
Silverfall Page 11
