by Bec McMaster
All the light in his life was gone, all the laughter, and heat, and warmth was missing... and he couldn't think about what was happening to her. Couldn't think about Lady Beaumont's brutalized body. And Cleo's smile, the one that made his heart twist in his chest whenever he earned one of them.
She'd been wrapped around him like golden threads that pumped something vital into him, but now she was gone, and he had a horrible feeling the black queen had consumed her.
How long did he have to wait?
Lady E had rushed into motion the second he revealed Cleo's heritage and the truth about the black queen, insisting he prepare himself. And wait.
They needed the others, she'd told him, and he'd never seen Lady E—solid, unflappable Lady Eberhardt—look so flustered.
He couldn't simply do nothing. But what could he do by himself? Sebastian's arms finally failed him, and he slumped against the practice dummy in Bishop's dungeon-like cellar. Lady E insisted they gather there, and had sent out the call.
The door opened. Sebastian broke away from the dummy, turning with predatory intent, but it was a familiar figure.
Bishop stepped through, closing the door with a quiet snick. His brown eyes took in the state of the room, and the blood on Sebastian's knuckles. He cleared his throat. "Agatha told me what happened."
"I can't feel her." Sebastian looked away, the dense surge of hopelessness threatening to drag his head beneath the waters.
He couldn't give in. Rage poured through him. That was better than hopelessness. Guilt and shame flayed him raw, stripping the skin off his bones. He needed to make it hurt. It threatened to eat him alive, but he could work with pain. Cleo needed him.
Why had he ever let her leave with the demon?
"Where's Rathbourne?"
"On his way. Here," Bishop said, picking up one of the timber sparring staves. He tossed it toward Sebastian, who caught it, and began stripping his coat off. "Just give me a second."
The wood felt solid in his palm. "I thought I was supposed to meditate when I felt like this."
"Do you feel like meditating right now?"
"No." His breath steamed in the icy air. "I feel like punching something."
Bishop slicked his hair back with his palms, and then reached for the second stave. "That's why I'm here."
Sebastian faced him, the weight shifting off his shoulders. Hitting something was the only way he'd been able to still his mind, but having something hit back....
He needed this to clear his mind, or he'd go mad.
"You won't hurt me," Bishop said. "But you can try."
His voice felt raw. "Don't pull your blows. I want to feel it."
"I won't."
The first swing of the staff cut through the sheer weight of the anger riding him. Staff slammed against staff, and then he was shoving his brother back with raw strength, raw fury. Bishop's stave caught the edge of his ribs, and the lash of pain that swept through him cleared his mind. Sebastian swung back, the clack of timber bringing with it a sweet clarity of its own.
The fierce dance began to weave a magic of its own. No holding back. Bishop knew how to protect himself.
He pictured Cleo, laughing beneath him as he kissed his way down her throat. Took a knee to the ribs, and swung back, ducking beneath the wide hum of Bishop's stave. It hurt. It all hurt, but he needed this. Needed the pain.
Cleo, the knife to her throat. Sebastian took a blow to the shoulder that would have crippled him on a different day, but he simply plowed through it, feeling strangely numb, and scored a lucky strike. Bishop didn't wince, simply answered with a sweeping retaliation that made his ears ring.
Body against body. Blow against blow. It was physical and raw, driving all the thoughts from his head, but one.
Cleo. Telling him her heart was his.
The tide broke within him. A sob sounded in his throat. And Bishop slammed him back into the wall, smashing the stave aside, his arms dragging Sebastian to his chest. Sebastian swung an arm, but Bishop blocked it.
"No more. No more. We're done."
A fist curled in his hair, and he couldn't see. His face was buried in his brother's shoulder. One second they were fighting, and the next, his brother was dragging him into a hug.
"We'll get her back," Bishop whispered. "I promise you I will do anything—anything—to get her back safely."
Sebastian lifted his head, blinking through the haze. The words felt momentous. He didn't understand.
"Drake wouldn't want her to be hurt," Bishop said, meeting his eyes. "I know what he would tell me to do."
It struck him like a fist of iron. The one thing Bishop didn't want to do, the one thing he dreaded the most—
"You'd kill him?" he whispered hoarsely.
Bishop was offering to kill his father to stop the demon? To save Cleo? He could barely breathe.
"I know how I'd feel if that were Verity," Bishop murmured. "And you're my brother. My younger brother." His voice roughened. "I never understood that until now. Verity was right all along. We need to stick together."
Sebastian tried to clear his throat, choking on the emotion filling him. He didn't know what to say. A month ago this man had been a foe. "Thank you."
The words weren't enough, but Bishop nodded.
"Let's go find that demon and kill it."
Chapter 28
'A well-spring bond is formed between two or more sorcerers when they wish to combine strength, however, one of them is in charge, and the others merely puppets.'
* * *
—'Understanding the Divine', by Sir Antony Scott
* * *
"SO WHERE DID Lascher take her?" Lucien asked, leaning over the map of London that Bishop had produced.
Sebastian stared into the flames in the hearth. All of them had gathered there as evening fell. Lucien, Ianthe, Bishop, and Verity. Lady Eberhardt and Marie. Remington Cross and Eleanor, Drake's lover.
He hadn't understood until today. This wasn't just a war meeting, this was a family. Every single person here would fight to rescue Cleo, and not just because of duty, but because they loved her.
And he... he had a place here.
He cleared his throat, turning to face them. "I only caught a glimpse through the bond. There was light, a garden...." He fought to remember. "Flames in the background, and laughter. I'm sorry. I can't recall anything familiar, and it was so quick."
"Tomorrow night is the full moon," Lady Eberhardt grumbled, leaning on her cane. "It's a powerful time, especially if the demon is planning some great working."
"And?" Bishop asked.
Lady E circled the map. "If you'd allow me to finish.... A great working requires a certain phase of the moon. It also requires a certain place."
"A leyline," Ianthe said sharply, looking up. "It can draw the energy up through the earth."
"Somewhere consecrated," Lady E added. "Sorcerous power leaves an echo, and if the place is used often enough, it imbues the surrounding area with energy."
"One of the Order's ritual places, like the Hollow where the Ascension took place?" Verity chipped in.
Lady E began to draw faint lines across the enormous map with her finger, making them glow. "Here are the leylines within riding distance of London." She began to press her finger to points in the map. "And here are places that might hold power. We'll add Balthazar's Labyrinth to the list."
"And Seven Dials," Verity suggested. "My friends there haven't seen anything out of the usual, but it's full of curse workers."
The ladies began to highlight the map, arguing over this place or that, as Bishop made his way toward him. A crook of his finger at Lucien, and he indicated the three of them ought to seek a moment of quiet on the balcony.
"What is it?" Lucien asked.
"The prophecy is coming to a head," Bishop murmured. "We have all three brothers in place. We have the three Relics. This ends tomorrow, one way or another. We need to discuss a plan of attack."
Lucien slid his hands into his pockets. "Ianthe
said you planned on killing him."
Bishop's lips thinned. "Only as a last resort. We have to make an attempt to wield the Relics Infernal against it, and try to exorcise Lascher from Drake's body."
Agreed. Sebastian tipped his head in a brief nod.
"If it doesn't work," Bishop said softly, "then... then I'll take care of matters."
"Ianthe and I have been reading through Drake's notes on the Relics," Lucien said. "Neither of us knew how they were created, but we found some of the more specific passages in his journal today. I don't quite understand all the theory yet, but there was something about Drake creating a spiritual echo of the Relics in another plane and tying them to the physical embodiment here. It's why they're so deadly to the demon. They exist here, and also in the dream-plane, or wherever it is that Cleo and Drake speak about. Demons can touch the dream-plane via the Shadow Dimensions, so the Relics have some sort of effect upon them."
"I've been to the dream plane," Sebastian said. "When I was trapped in my mother's dungeon, Drake brought me there to try and reach me."
"Tomorrow when we confront it," Lucien said, "we each need to funnel power through one of the Relics."
"I'll take the Chalice," Bishop said. "It's bound to the Grave Arts, so I doubt either of you will be able to wield it."
Lucien shrugged. "Ianthe and I have spent quite a bit of time with the Blade, considering she was the one who stole it from Drake. It makes sense—"
"No." Sebastian frowned. "I think I'm meant to have the Blade. Drake said something when he surfaced today. He said Cleo needed to stab him with it."
A moment of silence. Snowflakes fluttered out of the sky.
"You're linked to her," Bishop said slowly, "so it might work. Drake wouldn't have said it if it wasn't important."
"I'll take the Wand then. Have you looked over the spell to link the Relics?"
"Yes." Bishop turned, resting his hands on the balustrade. "It's complex. I'll go over it tonight with Sebastian." Dark eyes flashed toward him. "You'll have to master the chant. We can't afford a single error."
Done. He didn't care what it took. "I'll master it."
"Do you think you can withstand the raw energy we'll be dealing with?" Bishop asked, this time looking to Lucien.
Who hesitated. "I'm healing."
That wasn't an answer. A slither of dread made Sebastian's muscles tense. "This isn't going to work, is it? I have ridiculous power, but limited control. Lucien has years of experience and mastery, but can only handle a certain amount of sorcery without it feeling like a knife driving into his brain. And you.... You're the only one who might survive tomorrow." He laughed a little helplessly, and it took a moment to realize neither of his brothers was laughing with him.
Bishop looked up slowly, meeting Lucien's eyes.
"Hell," Lucien cursed, under his breath. "We're idiots. Three sons, three relics, three of... us. The key was there all along."
"Yes, excellent," Sebastian said. "You can count. What does any of that mean?"
Bishop remained frozen. "No," he said succinctly. "It wouldn't work."
"Why not?" Lucien pushed away from the balcony, brushing snowflakes off his sleeves. "Bonded sorcerers are always stronger than a single one. If we link—"
"I can think of a dozen reasons why it wouldn't work," Bishop countered. "Trust issues, for one. Who's going to be the Anchor?"
Sebastian looked between the two of them. "What the devil are you talking about? Anchor... for what?"
It was Bishop who answered, turning to the garden to stare into it as if it held all the answers. "He's talking about the three of us linking. It's something two or more sorcerers can do to combine strengths. The problem is: one of them has to lead it. One of them controls everything."
A trickle of ice went down Sebastian's spine. He'd been the demon's vessel for all of a day last month. It had been the ultimate loss of control, after a lifetime of being at the mercy of others. "No."
Not even to save Cleo?
That wasn't even a question, but could he do this? Could he physically hand over control of his will, body, and sorcery to another?
"Precisely," Bishop shot back, and pinched the bridge of his nose.
Lucien didn't seem quite as sanguine. He crossed his arms over his chest. "I don't know why you're so bothered," he told Bishop. "You'd be the one in control."
That earned him a savage glare, but Lucien met it with a faintly arched brow. "I'm stronger than you are—technically you're the weakest when one considers the amount of raw power one can wield. I'm barely beginning to regain mastery of myself, let alone two others. And Sebastian already has strength—what he needs is finesse."
"I don't want to control the link." Bishop replied. For the first time that Sebastian could recall, he actually saw doubt on Bishop's face.
Then he turned and walked back inside, leaving Lucien and Sebastian staring at each other.
* * *
"Why don't you want to be the Anchor?"
Sebastian found his brother in the billiards room, after Lucien joined the ladies. Bishop poured himself a generous glass of brandy, and then looked up when he entered the room and added another glass.
"Linking with another person is... quite a personal experience. There are only two people I've ever done it with." Bishop nudged the glass toward him.
"Verity and Agatha," he said, but he watched his brother's face. "And that's got little to do with it. Nice try."
Bishop's lips thinned.
"You promised me honesty," Sebastian said. "We don't have time for you to lie to us—or yourself."
There was a drawn-out moment of silence. Bishop sighed. "You're right. I demand honesty from you. I bet you're enjoying this moment."
"Somewhat," Sebastian admitted, and would have smiled if the circumstances were different.
"What do you know of the Grave Arts?"
"They're mostly necromancers." He glanced at Bishop. "Or Sicarii assassins, like you. Killing people gives them a rush of power that most couldn't imagine."
"It's addictive," Bishop said flatly. "We call it the maladroise, and it haunts my steps day and night. Little whispers in my mind—how good it would feel, how easy it would be to take...." He suddenly shook his head, as if casting off a sudden weight. "It usually ends with the afflicted sorcerer starting a lovely little murder spree that demands execution. I used to think there was no cure."
"Is there?"
"Yes." The way he said it made the word sound hollow.
Sebastian frowned. "Then what seems to be the problem?"
"From what I can gather from books, and my own personal experiments, I could use the Chalice to burn away my link to the Grave Arts. Instant relief."
"But?"
"But there is always a sacrifice when it comes to extreme acts of sorcery. I will possibly lose half of my power, or my ability to handle a certain amount of power," Bishop replied, and splayed his fingers wide on the billiards table. "And I cannot do that yet. Not until this is done and Cleo is safe."
"If you link with us—"
"Then there's a chance I would start to hear the whisper of the maladroise. Start to hear your heartbeats and the little song they sing to someone like me," Bishop whispered. "And your power.... Hell. All that power whispering along my nerves, like it could be mine for the taking. You'd be wide open to me if I were in control."
Completely vulnerable. He swallowed again. Never. "I thought you lived and breathed control."
"I do." Bishop looked away.
"It scares you," Sebastian said slowly, working his way through his tangled thoughts.
"And it should," Bishop replied. "The second I stop fearing it, is the second you need to send for an executioner."
They both fell silent.
"Then we do this individually," he said in a tired voice, downing the glass of brandy. "Where's that chant I need to learn?"
Chapter 29
What would happen if anyone were to truly pierce the Veil to th
e Shadow Dimensions, and bring forth that ruinous host in the flesh, so to speak? A demon cannot do it from this side, as they are not truly here. But what if one of their vessels had the power to do so?
—Sidestep Through Time by Quentin Farshaw
* * *
"MALACHI GRAY'S ESTATE," Sebastian said, staring up at the enormous wrought iron gates. "Of course. This is the garden I saw through Cleo's eyes."
"And an incubus is a creature from the Shadow Dimensions." Bishop growled under his breath. "Lascher's probably been here the entire time."
"Plenty of blood and sex to feed it," he agreed, his nerves on edge. He was finally close to getting Cleo back.
Helping Verity down from the carriage, Sebastian surveyed the grounds. They'd have to walk. Who knew what they'd be bringing the horses into? He could feel something in the air, a certain sort of crispness, a waiting....
Eleanor Ross had insisted upon coming, despite her limp, and she stepped down from the second carriage, leaning upon her cane.
He was the reason for her limp, and the slack line of her left jaw. She'd been caught in the edge of an attack he'd thrown at his mother, and barely survived it.
That's enough, he told himself firmly. She wouldn't be alive if you hadn't turned on your mother in that moment.
Her presence had made Bishop uneasy; she wanted Drake back at all costs. Neither of them had the heart to tell her they'd have to kill him if they couldn't save him.
A hooded figure caught his eye as Remington stepped down from the second carriage. Morgana tripped in the snow and fell to her knees, a velvet hood over her face, and her hands bound with Bishop's golden spelled manacles. She'd been the cause of every major pain in his life, but he couldn't look at her for too long.
Not anymore.
The journal had given him the means to break free of Morgana's chains, but it had also had a far more unsettling effect upon him, coupled with the night Cleo sat and held his hand.
"Brush my hair for me?" Morgana whispered, handing him the ivory-handled brush that had once belonged to her mother. It was the only thing she'd ever had of his grandmother's, and it seemed far too big for his little hand.
