INVISIBLE FATE BOOK THREE: ALEX NOZIAK (INVISIBLE RECRUITS)

by Buckham, Mary

  I had no choice. My feet started shuffling forward even as I dragged my boots against the concrete floor. Like a zombie acting on autopilot, I edged closer to the druid, Sabina acting as my shadow.

  Fear rampaged through me. I wanted her far, far away from here. But if I pushed her away too soon she could become an easy target for the druid.

  I glanced toward Bran. An automatic response.

  He was shaking his head. His voice murmuring through me. “It’s a trap, Alex. Don’t!”

  This was one choice I did have. If I ran he lost, Sabina lost, the world lost.

  I simply shook my head and kept inching forward until I stood not more than a hand’s length from the druid. Here I could smell a difference. He now reeked of fire, the acrid taint of brimstone and age, the kind of age one found in ancient tombs and burial sites.

  “Join with me, witch.” He extended his hand and every cell in my body screamed against touching him.

  But I did it. My arm trembled, my fingers curled as if to pull back, but I did it, stretched out my hand until his paw curled around mine.

  With my free left hand I reached back to push Sabina. Not to run but to start inching away. When she didn’t move at first I shoved harder.

  She had to keep to the plan. It was the only chance any of us had.

  And I needed one hand free.

  Like an electrical shock from a too-strong power source the druid’s magic arced through me. Dark swallowing light. Energy clashing against energy.

  The druid’s lips curled in a thin line. A triumphant cant to it.

  What had I gotten myself into?

  Chapter Sixty-five

  “I call to the Dark and the Power of Satanail.

  I call to the four corners of the Earth,

  Strengthen this circle and let the power flow.

  Power begets and power sustains.

  Darkness hear my command and obey.”

  The druid’s voice tightened around me, smothering, pressing, squeezing.

  “Now, Alex,” he commanded.

  Sabina was no longer pressed against my back, which I hoped meant she was scooting away. I couldn’t focus on the druid, Bran, and her all at the same time. Triage. Biggest threats first.

  If I’d been smart I’d have warded myself with a protection spell. If I’d thought ahead I’d have cast a banishing spell over Sabina and removed her from this place. If I was any kind of a good and decent witch I’d have never found myself here.

  Regrets would not get me through the next minutes, nor protect the people I cared for, even the ones I didn’t know.

  The only thing that would help now was grit, determination, and a hell of a lot of luck. A typical Noziak approach.

  Swallowing deeply I stood taller and started pulling from Bran’s magic. Not asking his permission or forgiveness. Making it my own.

  “Adeo. Adeo. Agero. Adepto.

  Come. Come. Increase. Acquire.”

  I could hear the rattle of Bran’s chains as he realized what was happening. I expected resistance, instead I heard his voice begging, “Don’t. It’s too dangerous.”

  That nearly brought me to my knees. Powerful, arrogant warlocks did not beg.

  Trust me. I spoke to his mind, now, before the druid could enter mine.

  Bran’s response should have soothed me, “I’m here with you. You’re not alone.”

  But he was wrong. I’d do everything within my power to protect him. I knew that. But the timing had to be right. If I acted too soon against the druid he could destroy us all and find another way to bring forth Zaradian. If I acted too late … well, then it wouldn’t matter anyway. We’d all lose.

  I strengthened my voice, tamping down the nerves and the doubt and the fears coursing through me. I could do this. Please Great Spirits, help me do this.

  “Suscipio. Solvo.

  Receive. Break free.”

  I wove the words I’d promised my father I’d never use and each time I broke that promise there had been consequences. Sorry, Dad.

  “Singluaris. Praesentia presencia.

  Free the power.”

  Bran’s chains rattled as I heard his breathing increase, felt the pounding of his heart, the pulsing of his blood. His own magic rose to my call.

  “I thee seek. I thee command. I thee bind.”

  A heady rush of magic washed against me so strong that I braced myself against it.

  I remembered this. This exhilaration. This nirvana.

  Sabina gasped beside me and moved farther away as if I burned.

  I did. Like an energy vacuum I sucked from not only Bran but all the other non-human abilities around us, the Weres, Franco, even Sabina.

  Which is why she had to get out of here, grab Willie and Franco and beat feet down the hallway. Last time I’d pulled magic from preternaturals most of them died. I didn’t want that happening to my friends, but once the magic began calling to other magic I could only ride the swells. I didn’t control a damn thing.

  I was the nexus of a freaking power vortex. Again.

  The druid smiled at me. Understanding. Celebrating. He knew. Of all in this room he comprehended what power really meant.

  “Yes, Alex, now is the time.”

  He raised his gaze upwards. The room heated, degree by degree growing so hot sweat dripped from my face. I could taste the salt on my lips.

  I followed his gaze, expecting to see the stone vaulted arch overhead. Instead, a funnel of wind whirled in colors of angry red and gray.

  “Unleash the power, Alex. We need it now.”

  I hesitated, fear locking my muscles, roaring through me.

  “No, Alex.” Bran’s voice.

  “Now.” The druid’s arms shook, lightning flashing from his fingertips, threading through the churning clouds.

  I didn’t notice when he moved, reaching behind him with his free hand and pulling out a dagger, like mine only older, crafted from meteorite and molten materials. Fashioned from fire, cooled with incantations, aged in sacrifices and blood.

  A cry erupted from my lips as he grabbed my left palm and turned it toward him. The slash of his dagger was swift and deep, blooding pooling until it trickled and dripped from hand to floor.

  “Now, Alex,” he whispered. “Be who you are meant to be.”

  A siren song for someone riding a power vortex. I reveled in the potency. Dangerous to everyone around. But not me.

  “This is what you’re meant to do.”

  Another voice had said that to me once. My mother’s. Now the druid’s.

  Maybe they were right. Maybe now was the chance. One I’d avoided my whole life, playing by the rules, my father’s rules. To protect you, he’d say, to keep you from harm.

  Or to keep me from this? My true nature.

  I heard the plop, plop, plop of the blood, my blood. Black magic I’d avoided my whole life. Yet here I wielded it as if born to it.

  I raised my right hand to mirror the druid’s and zeroed in. Thrice called, thrice to contain.

  “As thou be, so now change.

  Thought to image.

  Image to bind.

  Bind to blood let.”

  I raised my head skyward, aware of the swirl of grit and the widening of a rent overhead. The seam. We’d opened a seam.

  Stop, Alex. You’re going too far.

  Bran’s voice again. I could feel him resisting, pulling back but like the psychic vampire I was I tapped deeper into his power. Feeding off it. Craving more.

  “Come, Zaradian. We beseech you!” the druid shouted. “We are here to do your will.”

  The rent widened, like looking deeper into a powerful waterfall, layer upon layer of mist mingling with darkness.

  “Continere. Continere. Continere,” I shouted, feeling free, truly free.

  A crack of thunder answered me. A flash of white gold light. I heard the thud of the Weres crashing against the floor, their energies sucked dry while I felt I could go on for hours.

  The druid spared me a
quick glance. A grin of excitement making him look for an instant, just an instant, like the young man I’d first met.

  Which made it even harder to do what I needed to do next. It all came down to choices. Not easy ones, or pleasant ones, but ones that had to be made.

  An angry voice roared from the overhead void. “At last.”

  It was prayer and threat and gripped me like an incensed hand around my throat.

  “Hemma, hanna, druia.” The old words I spoke, hearing their echo through me. “Hemma, druia, sanctum.”

  I pulled forth more of Bran’s magic and made it my own, amplifying and expanding, hearing his heart slow as I taxed everything within him. Still I pulled.

  Time slammed to a halt. My head roared, blood pounded behind my eyes, nerve endings jangled. The seam became a door, beckoning to the demon waiting on the other side. His impatience pulsed toward me. Demanding. A greedy nature already wanting more.

  “No,” Bran’s voice came as a whisper, a good bye and I knew it was time.

  I couldn’t reach my anathema. Not with the druid clasping my hand the way he was. What now?

  Only one choice.

  Dad, I hope you’re right, that this is the only way.

  Grabbing the druid’s hand still holding his dagger I twisted his wrist and plunged the dagger into my chest.

  Chapter Sixty-six

  All Hallow’s Hell broke loose as I crumpled to my knees.

  The druid screamed, his oath ricocheting through my skull. Above me another called. A deep, dark base roaring in a language I didn’t know but felt, whirling deep and black in my body. The only voice I listened to was Bran’s, shouting my name, over and over.

  “Trust me,” I whispered even as I felt the shuddering of my heart, the slowing of its beat, the gurgle of blood pumping out of my organs and drenching my clothes.

  The floor came up to meet me. The concrete rough and cool.

  The druid grabbed my shirt, hauling me up, but it was too late. The link between Bran and I was broken. The power source the druid needed had winked out. For all the dominion he possessed he didn’t have enough to finish the ritual. He couldn’t tap into Bran’s magic, or what was left of his abilities; only a witch amplifier could do that.

  I’d ruined his plans.

  Like a vacuum-packed sealed jar unleashing a loud whish, the pop exploded through the room and the seam closed.

  “No. No, it can’t.” Padraig was reaching upwards, as if his need alone could reopen the seam, dangling me like a ragdoll, which is all I was.

  My heart slowed more. The air around me stilled. Quiet washed against me.

  Then my eyes closed.

  No choice this time, just an easy, inevitable letting go.

  Chapter Sixty-seven

  Arriving in the other realm this time was different. Even though I’d been here only a few hours ago, everything felt and looked unfamiliar.

  For one thing, the light was bright white, diffused around the edges, not the murky shadows I was used to. I wore the clothes I’d been in but there were no longer any bloodstains, and I was walking upright, as if I’d been walking down the street and just turned the corner. It felt like home. Welcoming.

  I wasn’t expecting that. Or the sounds of birdsong somewhere in the distance. It was neither hot nor cold but a perfect temp and I felt more alive being dead than I had being alive.

  Which freaked me out. Dead should feel dead.

  That and the absence of a heartbeat. No sound, except for the birds, tethered me to where I’d been.

  “Dad?” I called out, my voice expanding into the emptiness like a long, slow echo. “You here?”

  That had been part of his plan. He, as a shaman, could cross over and meet me, but like other elements of this scheme it wasn’t happening exactly as we’d discussed.

  I stood there, looking around, expecting, I didn’t know what. Not the wraiths, which was a good thing, but something else. Maybe I expected to feel sadness, or anguish, or even some fear. After all this was it. I wasn’t visiting. The dagger I’d used to stab myself was real. My death was real. But nothing felt real.

  “You have returned,” a voice spoke so close to me I jumped.

  Yup, let me face a demon sneaking back to Earth no problem. Surprise me by talking over my shoulder and I fell apart.

  I twirled so fast I expected to be dizzy, but I guess you didn’t get bad side effects in this place. Good to know.

  It was the Ghoul Guy, the one I’d met on other visits, only now I could see him, just as if we’d met on a sunny street. He was taller than I expected, maybe five ten or five eleven, with light brown hair that held a bit of a stubborn curl. He looked younger than me now by a couple of years but older at the same time, as if he’d seen too much in the time he’d had before he’d arrived here. His face was lean, hollows in his cheeks, a stillness in his dark brown gaze, as if waiting for something bad to happen.

  Which is when I noticed what he was wearing. Khaki. A uniform. “World War II?” I blurted out.

  He nodded, a wry smile touching his lips. “1st Infantry Division.” He tapped a red badge on his shoulder. “The Fighting First.”

  “What happened?” I knew I had other things to do. Finding my dad being the first but it seemed important to know.

  “Operation Torch. North Africa.” His smile turned down. “El Guettar, Béja, and Mateur. Saw them all.”

  “And then?”

  “Battle of Gela. Sicily.” The way he said it made my heart crack. Such pain, layered with regret, wrapped in a longing so strong it felt palpable.

  “Alex?” It was my dad’s voice.

  At last. Relief softened my shoulders as I turned to see if I could spot him but couldn’t.

  “You have to help me,” Ghoul Guy said, the sound rebreaking my heart. “You promised.”

  “I know. I did and I will. Just not now.”

  “Alex, where are you?”

  “Over here, Dad,” I called out, waving one hand in case he could see me. A hand that no longer dripped blood but did have a wicked looking scar across my palm.

  Ghoul Guy reached out and tapped me. I hadn’t expected that. Before everyone on this side had been spirits, not able to touch. His hand rested on my arm as if he too had been surprised. Or had forgotten how to touch.

  A shiver ran through me as he repeated, “Remember, you promised.”

  “I will.” I pulled away, knowing I didn’t have all that much time to reach Dad, yet reluctant to simply abandon this boy man.

  “Alex!” My dad who was the soul of calm and collected, raced out of the lightness and swept me into his arms. His hug was so tight I feared ribs cracking, but I didn’t want to release him either. When he set me on my feet at last he was already moving. “Come. Your body is in danger.”

  Why wasn’t I surprised?

  I turned around to say good-bye to Ghoul Guy but he had disappeared.

  “Hurry, Alex.” My dad was holding my hand as he had when I was a child, only now he was running, racing into the light and it was all I could do to keep up with him.

  The luminosity swirled around us, so clean after what I’d seen back where I’d been in the cells. “Bran?” I asked, a catch in my breath.

  “Waiting.” My dad shook his head. “And very angry.”

  “Then all’s normal,” I sighed, forgetting about my dad’s phenomenal shifter hearing.

  “I can’t blame him,” Dad said over his shoulder, his pace just now slowing, though how he could tell where we were was beyond me. “Seems he thinks you are too rash, foolish and what was the third? Oh, yes, take too many unnecessary risks.”

  “You did tell him this was your plan?” I asked. “Even with a few ad-libbed modifications.”

  “I’m not a fool,” came his quick response as he pulled up short and turned toward me. “You ready?”

  Not really. It was kind of nice to be pain free for a bit, but I knew that couldn’t last. I nodded. “Yeah, go ahead.”

  My
father stood straighter, his two hands wrapped around my shoulders, his concentration so intense I could feel him vibrating.

  He began a chant in the Shoshone language; that much I recognized. I squeezed my own eyes shut, listening, hearing his words hum through me, the sound of his heart, the small beat of my own growing louder second by second.

  The air around us chilled, bone-deep cold. For the space of a breath I wanted to scream, No, leave me here.

  Instead I swallowed the words as I heard another voice. “Come back, Alex. Come back to me.”

  I opened my eyes to pain and chaos. Why had I expected anything different?

  My head was cradled in Bran’s lap. That was nice. No, better than nice, but like surfacing after a wave knocks you for a loop, I was trying to process too much at one time.

  The smells: fresh blood and a sour, acrid taint. The sounds; fighting and shouting, and thuds of fists hitting flesh. Bran’s expression, looking more strained than I’d ever seen him, his blue, blue eyes so dark and drained they looked like obsidian daggers.

  “I almost lost you,” he whispered, brushing one hand across my forehead, the other gripping my hand as if afraid to let go.

  I tried to sit up.

  Bad idea. Really bad.

  Bran pressed me down, getting that what-am-I-going-to-do-with-you frown on his face. “Not yet. If I lose you again I don’t have enough magic to call you back.”

  Pieces started clicking into place as Sabina’s face came into view over Bran’s shoulder.

  “I told you to leave,” I said through dry lips. It was meant to be a growl but came out more like a whimper.

  “I did.” She smiled, a grin that stretched from ear to ear, as if she was having the time of her life. Silly witch. “The Were and I and that adorable dog ran as far as we could down the hall until we heard fighting on the other end. Then we headed back this way but only came close when the druid started cursing and screaming at you for dying. Thought that was my cue.”