Carved in Stone_Protectors of Magic_Book 2

by Jenna Wolfhart

  I frowned, took a deep breath, and glanced through the murky window at the sky. The storm still raged on, but a brightness tried to pierce through the clouds. It was impossible to look at him, not when he was being so earnest for once.

  “Don’t say that,” I whispered. “I don’t want to think of this as goodbye.”

  “Just like you didn’t want to think of it as goodbye with the others,” he said. “Even though you’re not going to go back right away.”

  “I will go back,” I said, flashing my eyes toward him. “I’m not going to abandon them to fight the hunters on their own.”

  “I know you care about them. About us. But I also know what it feels like to be trapped. And I know how difficult it is to break through that pain.”

  “You do?” I asked, surprised. I never took Marcus as the type to have a bottle of pain wrapped up somewhere deep within him. He seemed so happy, so sure of himself, so at ease with the world.

  He nodded. “Maybe one day, if we meet again, I’ll tell you that long and sordid tale. But, for now, we need to make a decision. Wait it out and hope the storm passes. Or take a risk and go now.”

  I took a deep breath, weighing the options in my head. But when it came down to it, there was really only one choice to make. The Blood Coven had made sure of that.

  “We’ll go,” I said, hoping the firmness of my voice would strengthen my shaky resolve. “Let’s take the risk and hope we aren’t seen.”

  Chapter 11

  We waited another twenty minutes before ducking out of the building. In the short time we’d been inside, my shirt had begun to dry and my soaked jeans had begun to feel the tiniest bit less confining. But the second we were back in the downpour, water assaulted my every pore.

  Marcus stood behind me and slipped his hands around my waist, pulling me back against his chest. As I stood waiting for his next move, I became acutely aware of every ridge of his body. From where his neck rested against the top of my head, to the hard, corded planes of his stomach, to the way his lower body brushed against my back. I swallowed hard, hoping that one power of the gargoyles was not the ability to hear racing hearts.

  “We’ll need to move fast and smoothly,” he murmured, his lips brushing against the tips of my ear. “We’ll face forward together. When I land, be prepared to run if necessary.”

  I swallowed hard. While our adventure had felt exciting and dangerous before, now it felt electric. We were dancing close to the edge now. In more ways than one, I couldn’t help but think. His lower body pressed tighter against mine as he shifted position to accommodate a distinctly stone-like part of him.

  And, then we were off. We flew low to the ground, the grass only inches from our bodies as Marcus angled us horizontally to the skies. I held my breath, far more terrified of this than I’d been of our flights before. If his fingers so much as slipped...

  I couldn’t think it. Instead, I gritted my teeth and watched the world spin by underneath us. We would fly for several minutes before dropping to the ground where we’d walk or run. Once we reached the quiet safety of trees, we’d be off again. Over and over, we continued on until I was left breathless, weak, cold, and tired.

  “How much longer?” I asked, puffing out rapid breaths when we took a small break in the middle of a country park, ducking into a wooden hut to get out of the rain. Because yes, it was still storming. It seemed we couldn’t escape.

  “At this rate, probably another half hour,” Marcus said, the perfect picture of calm control. He wasn’t winded, even in the slightest. I’d need to up my training regimen.

  “And the time?” I shielded my eyes, taking relief from the momentary escape from the downpour.

  His face was grim when he said, “You don’t want to know.”

  My body stilled. “Tell me, Marcus.”

  “You really don’t want to know.”

  “Just tell me,” I said, fisting my hands. “Of all people, I wouldn’t expect you to keep me in the dark.”

  “It’s just gone twelve, love,” he said with a wince. “We’ve missed the deadline.”

  “Are you serious?” I sunk onto the ground, weariness crashing over me. We’d tried so hard, done so much, and yet here we were...late. This entire trip had been wasted, and now I would never master my powers. Which meant...I couldn’t save magic, no matter how hard I tried.

  “Don’t give up.” He grabbed my elbow and hoisted me to my feet. “I told you I served Magister Thorne for years, and my parents served the previous Magisters long before that. We’ll continue on our journey, and I will convince him to hand over the sword, despite the fact we’re a few minutes late.”

  “Kipling said he was a cunning, untrustworthy warlock with a taste for blood,” I said, blinking through my brewing tears.

  “He can be,” Marcus said. “But he’s always had a single goal. Protect his people. And that, lovely Rowena, is why I’ll be able to convince him to discard this ridiculous time limit. He will not want magic to end, no more than we do.”

  “So, then why make the threat?” I asked.

  “Because he knew I would come,” he said, squeezing my shoulder. “So, what do you say? Have you caught your breath? Shall we continue?”

  A part of me just wanted to give up. I’d tried so hard to get this damn sword on numerous occasions. And every time it was within my grasp, it would flitter away on another bitter wind. It was almost as though some unseen force was trying to keep it from me, and I wasn’t strong or clever enough to fight back.

  But that part was drowned out by the calm confidence written on Marcus’s strong and chiseled face. He was certain we could do this, and all that self-doubt felt minuscule in comparison. With a deep breath, I nodded and stepped out of the wooden hut. And then we were off, flying higher and higher as the sky began to clear.

  It wasn’t until we landed in front of a tall and foreboding castle that a deep sense of dread scuttled down my spine. To the naked eye, everything appeared normal, and much of the grounds reminded me of my old home, the Dreadford Castle. Two twin towers sat on either side of a thick metal gate, though there was no drawbridge or moat here. The battlements stretched around the interior grounds in a square, each corner dotted with another stone tower. There were guards walking along the pathways, silently passing each other by. They hadn’t spotted us. Not yet, anyway.

  “Something feels wrong.” I kept my back tight against Marcus’s chest, not ready to walk away just yet. As he said, this moment might mean goodbye. Even though it had taken hours—and what had felt like years—to reach this place, everything suddenly felt as if it was moving far too fast.

  Marcus frowned up at the closed gates, and he sniffed the air. “It’s been a few weeks since I’ve been here, and they’ve definitely made some changes to their security. But that’s to be expected in the current situation.”

  He meant the magic hunters stalking any witch and warlock they could find, though that should have stopped the moment I faked my own death.

  “Do you think the magic hunters have been attacking?” I asked, noting that this castle was very much visible to the naked eye, unlike the Dreadford Castle had been before I’d left.

  “I doubt it,” Marcus said. “Magister Thorne is known for taking extreme measures when it comes to the safety of his people. It’s no wonder he wanted me back if he’s upped the guard rotation this much.”

  I shivered. “I’m really not looking forward to meeting this guy.”

  As if on cue, the sound of a cranking pulley came from within the castle, and the metal gates slowly lifted from the dirt ground. Inch by inch, it rose into the stone cavity above, revealing a pair of red slippers and a billowing cloak. My breath caught in my throat when a face came into view. Pale, purple-stained eyes, and flowing red hair that whispered down his back. And when he opened his mouth, I swore the edges of his teeth were long and pointed like jagged fangs.

  “You’re late,” Magister Thorne hissed. “You can say goodbye to your precious sword.
”

  Chapter 12

  “There was a storm,” I blurted out the words just as Marcus shifted in front of me, shielding my body with his.

  “Storm or not,” the Magister said, his voice dripping with disdain. “You are late. You might as well turn away now and return to your dreadful city.”

  “Forgive me, Magister,” Marcus said with a slight bow. “We were delayed by the terrible storm. As you can imagine, it is difficult to fly in such weather. Even if you no longer want to move forward with the exchange, at least give us a warm room and a roof over our heads before we make the long trek back to the island.”

  I wrinkled my nose, caught off guard by Marcus’s strange deferment toward the blood mage. It was impossible to imagine he, of all people, bowing to anyone, least of all a warlock who looked like that.

  Like a vampire, the very ones he was so dead-set on defeating.

  Magister Thorne pursed his lips before flashing a fanged smile our way. “Very well. You may stay. For one night and one night only.”

  The Magister flicked his fingers and two similarly-dressed warlocks appeared behind him. They quickly rounded the two of us, edging in behind us so that we had nowhere to go but forward. That strange sense of dread tickled the back of my neck again, warning me that these were people who should not be trifled with. The shadow witches were just as, if not more, dangerous than these mages, but I’d been one of them. I’d never feared them, despite their strange and dangerous powers. But now, walking into the depths of the Blood Coven’s home, I felt more than a little uneasy. Something wasn’t right, and I was certain that it was more than just our late arrival.

  We trailed through the courtyard and were ushered into an elaborate building at the very back of the castle’s grounds, where vaulted ceilings were painted with intricate designs. There was a long curving staircase in the very center of the expansive lobby, leading up to a second level with a rounded balcony that looked down on the floor below.

  “Welcome to Crimson Hall,” Magister Thorne said. “This is where we allow guests to stay. You will find your room on the next floor up. Benjamin here will show you to it.

  “Crimson Hall?” Marcus asked with a slight crease on his forehead. “Surely it would be better for Rowena to say in—”

  “We’ve made a few changes in your absence, Marcus.” The Magister’s voice went razor sharp. “Which you’d be aware of if you hadn’t abandoned us due to some misplaced loyalty to the demigod.”

  The demigod. It was a strange feeling, knowing that he was referring to me with those words. And part of it was the way he said it, like...well, like he hated me.

  Marcus didn’t bother to look apologetic or ashamed. “I see. And where would you like me to stay?”

  “You can take your regular post for the day and evening. Keep watch. Someone might have spotted you and followed you here. And we certainly wouldn’t want that, now would we?”

  Benjamin, a twenty-something pale-faced warlock with white-gold hair, led me to a small, quaint room on the floor above, complete with a double bed that had been consumed by red silky sheets. A fireplace sat dark and cold in a corner, and the lighting was dim, the only lamp a small, timid thing that sat on the bedside table.

  “There’s a shower just down the hall,” Benjamin said in a strangely musical voice. “I’ll come fetch you when it’s time for dinner. The Magister would like you to join him. There’s some clean clothes in the dresser, but don’t get too comfortable.”

  I wrinkled my nose when the warlock disappeared out the door. Man, these mages were rude. I’d thought the Queen was bad, but Magister Thorne could go to battle with her on how best to give someone a cold shoulder. With a sigh, I chose some clean clothes from the top drawer—a loose-fitting mauve shirt and some black slacks that whispered across my skin. I grabbed the towel that had been left on the bed and ventured down the hall to the shower, in desperate need of some warmth.

  Once I was hot, clean, and dry, I slid into the clothes and perched on the windowsill to take a good look at the rest of the castle grounds. The dark sky above had finally cleared, but a mist hung in the air like wet fog. Truthfully, there wasn’t much to see. Several other buildings were scattered around this one, and a Keep rose high in the center of it all. But, unlike Dreadford Castle, very few mages were moving through the grounds. Everything was as still and silent as a graveyard.

  I squinted my eyes, hoping to find Marcus in his stone form perched above it all, keeping an eye out for enemies. But he was nowhere to be seen. Not a single gargoyle statue could be found on the rooftops.

  A tap sounded on the window across the room. Eyes wide, I whirled toward it to find Marcus’s face glimmering through the glass. Confusion rippled through me. He tapped the glass again, and I was across the room in three quick steps.

  When I pushed the window open, he climbed inside, still donning his soaked jeans and jacket. He shot me his trademark dimpled smirk, but there was a hint of darkness in his eyes.

  “You look nice, love,” he said, nodding to my clothes.

  A warmth spread through my neck. “You didn’t seriously come through my window because you wanted to see my outfit.”

  “No.” He sighed and ran a hand down his face. “I came because you were right. Things have changed here, but it seems like it’s much bigger than that. I haven’t seen any of the mages I knew before. There are a lot of witches and warlocks who live here, but where are they? Something is wrong, Rowena. Have you been invited to dinner tonight?”

  I gave a nod, heartbeat quickening.

  “Then, you need to be careful. I don’t know what’s going on here, but whatever it is? It isn’t anything good.”

  Chapter 13

  Marcus had put a heavy dose of fear into my heart. But with it came a new sense of determination. Regardless of what Magister Thorne would do or say at dinner, I would get my sword back. There was no way in hell I was leaving this place without it.

  Before Benjamin returned, I scoured the room for anything that might come in handy. Something like a sword or a dagger or even a sharp needle. Instead, I found myself staring into the depths of a small closet. A dozen dresses hung on identical wooden hangers, each one a different shade of violet, red, or blue. They were intricately woven with pearl buttons and silver or gold accents. I pulled a dark violet dress and held it against my body, relishing the soft material and the way it fluttered against my thighs.

  I would wear this, I decided. Magister Thorne was the kind of warlock who would underestimate a girl in a dress.

  A few hours later, I was ready and waiting when Benjamin returned to my room to collect me. His yellow eyes went wide when he saw what I wore and how it hugged my curves—as limited as they might be. I’d taken the time to weave my hair into a loose braid, and it hung across my right shoulder, revealing the shape of my slender neck.

  “Well,” he said. “We aren’t usually so formal, but I’m sure the Magister will appreciate the effort.”

  “Tell me more about the Magister,” I said as we eased into the hallway and strolled toward the wide and curving staircase that was carpeted with red. My plan was to learn as much as I could as quickly as I could. After all, I only had about twelve hours before they would kick me out of here. Benjamin seemed like the perfect person to needle for some information. He was some kind of bodyguard or assistant. The kind of person who always stood in the background, seeing and hearing but never seen himself. Unless someone needed something.

  He flicked a pair of yellowish eyes my way. “The Magister appreciates his privacy.”

  Or, in other words, stop asking questions.

  “I’m just curious,” I pressed on. “He set a near impossible task for me. Return Marcus in exchange for my sword. Sure, we were about an hour late, but I still got Marcus here. Surely a reasonable leader would accept that. Surely the Magister of a coven wouldn’t want to give the magic hunters more power to obliterate magic.”

  Benjamin bristled, and his jaw clenched. �
�That is something you’ll have to take up with him.”

  I blew out a breath of frustration. Okay, maybe I’d pushed a little too hard, but this was ridiculous. Everything I said blazed with the truth. If Magister Thorne did not give me the sword, he was acting against his own interests. And why in the name of the goddess would he do such a thing?

  Unfortunately, it looked as though I would get no answers from Benjamin. So, I tried a new tactic, falling into silence as our footsteps whispered across the marble floor at the bottom of the stairs. He led me to the far end of the hall and through an arched doorway. There, Magister Thorne sat at the end of a glistening oak table. Two more guards flanked his either side. He flashed me his jagged teeth and motioned at the only empty seat, the one that was positioned squarely between his guards.

  “Welcome. Don’t you look lovely?” His gaze dropped to my chest, and I flushed, though not even remotely in a good way. I felt violated with his eyes on me, as if he could see far more than my outer garments.

  I shot him a sarcastic smile and lowered myself into the dark satin chair. “Look, let’s just cut to the chase. I want my sword back. If you don’t give it to me, you’re just going to lose your powers, so stop pretending you’re going to hand it over to the magic hunters.”

  “Well.” He steepled his long, slender fingers under his chin and regarded me with eyes the color of blood. “Aren’t we bold? Whatever you might think of me, I invited you to dinner because I wanted to treat you like a guest. But I will not sit here and be spoken to rudely. Not even from a demigod.”

  I fought the urge to roll my eyes. “I’m not being rude. I’m being frank. You’re playing some kind of game, and it’s only going to lose you the lives of your coven members. I don’t see how you could possibly want that.”