by Bec McMaster
They were betting everything on this moment. Eleanor’s magic had not returned, not yet. She couldn’t protect herself from the demon if it chose to annihilate her.
But there was someone who could.
Someone who could no more see harm done to his lover than he could harm her himself.
The demon’s eyes lit up—just for a second—and then its face began to ripple again, horror filling its eyes. No, Drake’s eyes. For just a second Sebastian saw the man he recognized as his father emerge from behind the demon's cool mask, stricken by the thought of harm coming to the woman he loved.
"Drake," Eleanor whispered, stepping inside the star with her hand outstretched. "Cast it out. Come home to me... please."
Drake went down on one knee, his fingers curled into claws, and that horrible rippling still continuing beneath his skin.
Cleo moved toward him, the Blade in her hand, her skirts whipping behind her.
"Do it," Drake rasped, holding his hands wide.
"Begone," Cleo whispered, and grabbed a handful of his hair. "I cast you out, back to your world. You don't belong in this one."
And then she drove the Blade of Altarrh into Drake's chest.
The enormous six-pointed star of power flowed through Bishop, through the Blade, and smashed into Drake.
It felt like every last drop of energy was being wrung from him. Sebastian curled his hands into fists, wavering on his feet. He could see blood dripping from Lucien’s nose, from Verity’s. Cleo’s face had drained of color, and her hair rippled around her face as all that power consumed her.
The hexagram exploded outwards, and Sebastian was lifted off his feet, his back and head slamming into the wall behind him.
Chapter 31
THE CARNAGE WAS immense.
Sebastian rolled to his feet, his ears ringing and his vision wavering. Smoke billowed nearby; the corner of the manor had caught on fire during the explosion. Every glass window had blown out, flames licking at the window casings, and the black spray of ichor drenched the snow where dozens of imps had been obliterated.
He caught glimpses of it all; Lucien sitting with his head cradled in his hands, and Ianthe kneeling at his side to check on him; Drake cupping Eleanor’s face in his hands as he tried to help her to stand; Cleo standing shakily, her black dress ripped and torn, and half her hair singed to her shoulders; and Bishop flat on his back, with Verity crouched over him.
"Are you all right?" Sebastian reached out to help Cleo to her feet.
"All right?" she looked around her in shock, one bedraggled crow feather melted into her hair.
No one had escaped unscathed, but he felt a buoyant surge of hope through the bond. Cleo's eyes shone with tears, and she'd never looked more beautiful. "I've never seen this far into the future. All my Visions stopped at London's doom."
But the evening skies were clearing, and there was no sign of the Gates to the Shadow Dimensions. And she was back. Back. He'd never take her presence for granted ever again.
"You came for me," she said, meeting his eyes.
"Always." Cleo threw her arms around his neck, and he dragged her into a hug. "I will always come for you."
Tears of happiness gleamed in her eyes, "We did it. The odds seemed so impossible at the time, and I was trapped in the dark for so long...." A shudder went through her. "But we're here now, and there's a whole future ahead of us."
"Help me," a voice begged, and the pair of them broke apart as reality began to intrude. They hadn't checked on everybody yet. Not everybody was guaranteed a future.
Sebastian found his brother in the snow, still unmoving. "Bishop."
"Someone help me! He’s starting to fade." Verity stroked her husband's face, her expression stricken.
Drake crouched by Bishop’s side. He pressed his fingertips to Bishop’s chest, but it wasn’t moving. "The fool…. He’s drained himself dry." He looked up. "Ianthe?"
Ianthe staggered as she made her way toward them, her skirts ripped and her hair a mess. "I don't know how much I have left in me."
There was blood dripping from Lucien's nose, and he shook his head darkly. Nothing left in him either... indeed, it was a miracle he was still on his feet.
"Here, let me." And Sebastian knelt at his brother’s side, and cupped Bishop's slack face in both hands. "I have more energy left in me than most."
His power had always been half curse, half promise. It had turned his mother from his side—but no, that was her bad luck, not his. Now it flooded through him from some deep well, and he reached out to hold Verity's hand so he could help her save his brother.
Or try to.
For the emptiness within his brother was dark and hungry. No matter how much energy he poured through their link, he could barely fill it.
"Come on, you stubborn bastard," Sebastian muttered beneath his breath. There was some sort of gaping hole in Bishop's aura, as if he'd burned some part of himself out.
"Come on," Verity whispered. "He was holding all that power. I felt it drag him under when he let the spell go."
Bishop suddenly sucked in a deep breath, startling them all. He grabbed Sebastian's wrist, and then relaxed back down when he saw whom it was. "What the hell—?"
Sebastian subsided, feeling empty and raw. "You're welcome."
"Thank you," Verity cried, and threw herself into her husband's arms.
Bishop groaned, wrapping a weary arm around his wife. "What... happened...? Where is... everybody?"
Sebastian grasped this brother's hand. "We did it," he said, repeating Cleo's words.
Drake clapped a gentle hand on his shoulder, and it was like looking up into a mirror. Or an older version of himself, at least, and it was rather uncanny. "It’s good to finally meet you, face-to-face."
"Are you all right?" he asked, for he alone knew what it felt like to be a demon's vessel.
Drake shuddered. "I'm here. And I have all my sons safe before me. There will be time enough to forget... to forget everything it did with my body."
"You gave yourself up. For me," he whispered.
He'd wondered all this time why this man—a virtual stranger—had sacrificed himself for Sebastian.
He didn't wonder any more.
It was the same feeling that had made him share power with his unconscious brother; the same sensation that made him kneel at Cleo’s feet even when she raised the knife and he thought she was going to kill him; the same stirring he felt when Lady Eberhardt kissed him on the cheek before she sent him into battle.
Love.
It all finally made sense now. And though his feelings for the others paled behind his feelings for Cleo, he would still stand between them and any sign of danger. Even, perhaps, die for them.
He’d lost so much over the course of his life. He’d endured so much pain. And yet it was all worth it—in some masochistic way—for the chance to stand here now, and to know these people.
Drake saw it all in his eyes, and gently offered him a hand to help him to his feet. "It was worth it. Even for the chance to see you like this, one more time. We have a great deal of missed time to make up for."
"Yes."
And then his father slowly dragged him into his arms in a hug.
And everything was all right.
* * *
Cleo picked her way through the snow while the others sat and recovered. The moon rose in the sky, gleaming brightly over what was left of the snow. There'd been a momentary panic when nobody could find Lady E for several minutes, but then she'd appeared around the corner of the garden folly, leaning heavily on Remington Cross's arm and cursing up a storm.
"Bloody imps," the old woman had spat. "We were trying to track the last of them down. Can't have that rabble gallivanting through London. The queen and Parliament would be up in arms."
"I take it you succeeded?" Drake had said dryly.
"Better than you, old friend."Lady E snorted, and poked Drake with her finger. "What the hell were you thinking? Letting a demon t
ake possession of you?"
And there'd been an awkward moment when Sebastian looked up sharply, and Drake glanced down beneath his lashes.
"Some sacrifices are worth it," Drake murmured, and gently squeezed Sebastian's shoulder.
Cleo had left them there, needing a moment to herself. Premonition kept itching, but not the dangerous sort. There was something left unfinished.
She found Malachi Gray leaning against the wall, cradling his bloodied palms in his lap. Cleo flinched. She would never forgive herself.
"Hello," she called, wending her way toward him.
Malachi lifted that ageless face to hers intently, and for a moment it looked like he was going to flee. "You appear to be yourself again."
"Yes," she whispered. "What are you doing sitting here in the dark?"
His head slumped back against the wall. "It's where I belong." A faint mocking smile touched his lips. "You know what I am."
"Yes." She knelt beside him. "You're the man who knew I wasn't myself. The man who refused to... to take advantage of her advances."
Their eyes met.
"You weren't yourself," he repeated, looking away. "And I'm not interested in being a demon's meal."
"I think," she said quietly, "there is just enough chivalry within you, even though you try to hide it."
"There is nothing good within me, Cleo." He shifted angrily. "I'm an incubus. Touched by the Shadow Dimensions, twisted and unholy."
"And so am I," she told him.
He flinched from that.
"Are you trying to tell me there is nothing good within me either?"
"No." He slumped again. "Any fool can see there is goodness within you."
"Even after what I did?" She cupped his hands, drawing just enough power into herself to heal him. "I'm so, so sorry." Tears burned in her eyes as she saw her hand lift the hammer again, and drive the spike through his palm.
She hadn't been able to stop herself—or the black queen, to be honest, for she would bear the guilt for that creature's actions.
He hesitated. "It wasn't you."
"I couldn't stop her." The tears started flowing. "I could see everything she was doing, but my hands were not my own. I'm so sorry for your friend."
His mouth twisted. "Odette shouldn't have tried to protect me. And it was not your hand that struck her down. I'll lay that at the demon's feet."
"All the same, she was your friend." Cleo squeezed his hand. "I'm sorry for your loss."
"My loss." He looked up at her then, as if she'd said something utterly incomprehensible. "She was just an incubus, just...." And then he shook his head, as if even he couldn't believe the lies falling from his lips. "Odette mattered. To me."
"Yes,"she said, dashing her tears from her cheeks. "You should join the others. They're going to rouse the carriages and return to town. There's nothing for you here."
"I don't think there is a place for me there either," he mused. "Your husband doesn't like me."
"I think he's forgiven you for stealing that kiss," she said. "He did save your life, after all. And he knows you tried to stop the demon from taking me. Those are points in your favor."
"What happens when she wakes?" he whispered hoarsely.
They were speaking of the girl in the glass coffin.
"I don't know. I didn't see that." Cleo squeezed his hand. "But I know she will wake, and perhaps the answer to that question is up to you. You're the one who makes your own choices, and you've been given a second chance now. What will she see when she wakes up? That choice is yours."
It clearly wasn't what he wanted to hear. Malachi's face shuttered, but he nodded. "I had best go bury Odette, or what is left of her." He hauled himself to his feet, scraping his hair back off his face before giving her a lingering look. "Good luck with your husband. You should know... I lied when I said he hadn't given you his heart. He had. He just didn't know it at the time."
A fist eased inside her. "Thank you."
Malachi pressed a gentle kiss to her cheek. "No. Thank you."
And then he was gone, disappearing into the dark as if it swallowed him whole.
"That was well done," said a voice behind her.
Cleo turned so swiftly she almost fell. Quentin Farshaw stepped out of the shadows, his dark hair tumbling in thick curls around his face.
"You were watching?" she demanded sharply.
He nodded slowly, his gaze settling on the still-burning pyres of the imps, and the smoldering star. "I saw it all. You chose the Light, and I was here to bear witness."
"I read your book. You were sired by a demon. Your gifts were demon-born too."
"Aye. There are several of us still out there. I could teach you. You could become one of us—"
"Us?"
"Travelers," he replied. "We watch the streams of time, protecting England—and the world—from all dangers from other planes."
"What is the point in watching?" Cleo demanded, thinking of all the death and pain that could have been avoided. "You had this knowledge, and you did nothing with it."
"You're young," Farshaw replied coldly. "You don't understand what it means to slip through time. A single conversation creates a million different possibilities in the time stream. To interfere is to interrupt—possibly even destroy—millions of futures. There are rules, and if the demons must play by them, then so must we. There is a pact in place. I couldn't break it. I did what I could."
His words took the heat from her anger as she remembered the book he'd given her. And a conversation in Balthazar's Labyrinth, so many days ago.
How many times had she tried to prevent what she saw in the future, only to have it twist in unpredictable ways?
"What rules?" she whispered. "What pact?"
"This isn't the first time a demon has been called into this world, or has broken free of its master’s will. During the last black queen's rise, we were forced to forge a treaty with them, or there would have been no means to stop the plague."
"The Black Death?”
He nodded curtly.
"But that was before your time."
"Nothing is before my time."
What would it mean to be able to go back into the past and change the future? The thought of saving Sebastian from all the abuse he'd suffered sprang to mind, but she instantly knew it was wrong. Where would one stop? And what far-reaching implications would those choices have?
No. Far too dangerous. Far too tempting. Farshaw was right.
"The only way to interfere in the current game is to give your candidate knowledge," Farshaw said. "You were my white queen. I could only work through you, and even confronting you was a great risk."
Cleo raked a hand through her hair, turning away from him. "A bloody chess game."
"It is part of the pact," he admitted, taking several steps after her. "The game must be contained."
"It's not a game," she cried out. "These are people's lives you're playing with."
Farshaw tilted his head, and she realized he was so far outside time—the world—that he had no concept of the pieces he played with anymore. He didn't care about poor Odette, who'd been swept up in a merciless war and paid the cost with her life. He didn't care about Drake, or Eleanor, or Bishop, or any of the others.
Not even her.
"Why are you here?" she asked suspiciously.
"Because you won the game," he replied. "You are a worthy successor to our ranks."
Cleo's breath caught. "You want me to join you?"
"I could teach you everything," he said. "How to time-walk; how to see the future in complete Visions; how to guard the world from the threat at our doorstep."
Away from Sebastian and her new family. Cleo shook her head. It wasn't even a consideration. "No. No thank you."
"The world is at risk," he said sharply. "You opened the Gates for the briefest of moments, and something came through. It's out there, even as we speak. You could stop it. You could help us hunt it down."
Cleo froze, haun
ted by what she'd done when she wasn't in control of her body. The guilt tempted her, where nothing else could....
But how could she fight something without Sebastian by her side? "I think... I think I am right where I am meant to be. You can't see every possibility. You can't see where every choice will take you. But this one? This one feels like the right one. Goodbye, Mr. Farshaw."
He looked taken aback. "You can't mean that."
"I do. I am more than a pawn in your immortal game. And so are my friends. And if there is indeed something out there, then I shall tell Ianthe and the others, and we will take care of it. Here. On this plane. In this time. Goodbye."
And then she turned her back on him, and went back to join her family.
Epilogue
Two years later....
* * *
HE WAS LATE. Sebastian snapped the pocket watch shut, cursing his brothers under his breath. He had a sparring appointment with Bishop every Monday morning, and Lucien had started joining in of late, now his full powers were finally starting to return.
Neither of them was any match for Bishop, of course, despite his vastly weakened state. He'd never truly regained his full strength after the battle with the demon, but he seemed at peace with it. The loss of power was a small price to pay for the loss of the maladroise, he claimed.
That didn't make him any less dangerous.
In spite of the drubbing Sebastian regularly took, it was enjoyable to meet with them, though he'd never admit that. Lucien's new baby, Adeline, took most of his attention these days, and Bishop could barely contain his enthusiasm over Verity's increasing state. They all had dinner once or twice a month, of course, for the ladies were firm friends—and dangerous allies when they all got together—and Drake enjoyed being able to host family dinners.
The carriage rattled as it hit a puddle. Cleo would be wondering where he was.
Sebastian collapsed back onto the carriage seat, trying to ignore his clammy great cloak. It would be a cold ride home, and to warm himself he thought of what waited for him there. A wife in every sense of the word. One who'd blindfolded him and pleasured him with her mouth and hands the night before. The thought of her summoned the little knot in his mind that was their link, and he couldn't help himself really. He reached through the link, the bond opening like a blooming flower until the sensation of her drenched him. Warmth cocooned her, and Cleo stirred sleepily, reaching out to touch the link on her side.
