A Conspiracy of Ravens: A Raven Saga Book 1

by Crymsyn R. Hart

  The stranger began to move around the house inspecting the windows. He moved quickly even though he still trembled. She made her way into the kitchen to grab a towel, and before she knew it, he was about to go upstairs as if he searching for something.

  "Hey. Whatever your name is. What the hell do you think you're doing coming in here and going through my house without my permission?” The witch clutched the towel in her half extended hand.

  He acknowledged the towel, but didn't make to take it. Instead he gazed at her with those dark eyes that made her tingle inside as the dark coals ignited something deep inside her soul. Her heart skipped under the intensity of it. “Linnea, I—look there's no time for games. I can't tell you everything. I would like to, but the wards around your house are not strong enough to keep them out and—"

  Without warning, he slumped down on the steps like he lost his balance or fainted. Linnea dropped the towel, moving quick enough she was able to catch him so she was pressed against the wall with his rain-drenched body in her arms. Great, this is all I need. A dead guy in my house. What was he talking about the wards for? Is he a witch too? How much does he know about magick? As she held him, guilt weighed on her conscience for being bitchy to him. She shoved the necklace into her pocket and focused on him. He was cold and getting her soaked, too. He was almost too heavy for her to hold up even with the wall supporting her. His complexion grew pastier. When she felt his skin, it was burning. Oh God, I hope he's going to be okay. Why do I feel so strange with him? Being so close, she could smell his fresh scent, and her body responded, making her shiver in her own right. She shook her head getting over her lust at first sight and began patting his cheek. It took her a moment, but he finally came around, and she was able to get him back on his feet. Obviously he was not well. She had an idea it was from the wound he had gotten earlier. Come to think of it, she still had the dagger in her purse upstairs.

  "Look. Please let me help you. Whatever you're here about can wait. We need to get you some medical attention.” She started to drag him upstairs when he gripped the handrail so hard he could not be moved. He dislodged himself from her grip and leaned against the banister.

  "My name is Tremain. Medical attention can wait. For now, I have to keep you safe. Please, there is no more time. Can't you hear them coming for you?” He could barely stand up, but he said his piece with such conviction.

  "Hear what?” She didn't hear anything except the rain battering down on the windows. It was pouring out. This was the longest she had heard it rain for a long time. Not that they needed it, but it was strange to have it rain so hard for so long.

  He grabbed her arm and stared into her eyes long and hard, trying to press his will on her. She felt pressure against her mind like a bad headache. Linnea stared right back, not caring that he tried to break into her mind. When Tremain looked away, she did hear something else besides the rain. It was a low shriek like the loose wheel on a shopping cart or the sound of nails on a chalkboard, and it was getting louder, closer. The shadows grew longer and denser, taking on shape and weight. She looked back at the soaked stranger seeing he struggled to get her behind him. “Run."

  She didn't move as the shadows inched up the wall, reaching out to her. “What are they?” The yelling got louder.

  He gave her a hard look, grabbed her shoulder, and shoved her behind him so she landed hard on the steps. “Get behind me, woman. Go upstairs to your circle like a good witch."

  From nowhere, the same silver sword she had seen him hold in Maili's apartment materialized in his hand. A shadow zipped from the floor over the railing, swiping at her. It grabbed a hold of her hand. Suddenly she was filled with cold. Her hand felt like it had been stuck in the freezer. Tremain swung and severed the shadow hand, freeing Linnea. The feeling returned. The howling she heard before was now inside her house and loud enough she had to cover her ears. It was deafening like her brain would split. Linnea scrambled up more of the steps, marveling how he seemed to have recovered at least for now. He swung his sword and stabbed the shadow in the center of the chest, also taking a slice out the banister.

  He looked to her and yelled. “Go."

  Linnea didn't have to be told twice. As she did, she saw another shadow rise out from the corner and make a grab at her. Tremain took another slice and pierced the wall, taking the plaster, but she didn't care as the scream of the dying shadow split her eardrums. She had to shut her eyes as she paused to catch her breath. There was no way she could stop because the shadows were still coming. Her savior pushed her onward, up the third flight of stairs. Three more shadows filled the landing. The more she stared at them, the more she realized they were taking on shape. The reek of decay entered her nose as she was stuck in the middle of the steps. Darkness surrounded her from all sides. The attackers were no longer dense. Cold chilled her bones even from feet away. Tremain tried to ward off the three figures creeping up the stairs. They were trapped.

  "What are these things?"

  "They're assassins sent by the Banshee Queen."

  "What? Why me?"

  "It doesn't matter why you. Don't you have a spell or something which can banish them?” Tremain asked her. His voice was gruff, but Linnea saw the sword shaking. He struggled to keep his hold on the weapon. His burst of adrenaline seemed to be burning off.

  "You've got to be kidding, right? How in the world would I know a spell to get rid of whatever these things are?"

  "You're a witch. Figure it out! We have to get into the room with your circle."

  Linnea so wanted to hit him, yet with all the other assassins around and the piercing shrieks, she knew it would wait until later. How in the world could she get past the phantoms, assassins, or whatever they were? Why would the Banshee Queen send them after her? She hadn't done anything wrong? Unless ... No, it couldn't be. She shook her head waiting for the dark forms to make a move. Long skeleton fingers waited patiently to grip flesh and freeze it like it had done before. Her gaze slid toward the warrior. His grip on the sword was loosening. Whatever was wrong with him, he was losing the battle. She had to act fast. What did shadows fear? What made darkness go away?

  Fire. Light.

  Light was the better of the two decisions. She swallowed not sure how to use her power. Her grandmother had always told her to think about what she wanted, and she could summon it. It was the whole idea that visualizing something would make it become real. Thought made things happen. Shutting her eyes, she pictured a light as bright as the sun shinning in her hallway, praying it would appear before her. When Linnea opened her eyes, the hallway seemed darker than before. The rain was pounding around them harder, and the shrieking now went along the rhythm of the wind. Even as the droplets pulverized the windows it echoed the death rattle she heard along with her heart. Tremain looked at her as he moved up a step, forcing her closer to the other assassins. Linnea shrugged her shoulders. The cold look he gave her told her to try again.

  Linnea shut her eyes, trying to block out the screeching and focus on the energy inside of her. It was hard enough with everything going on around her. She tasted fear in her throat. Her stomach backflipped, and she was scared to death. There was no denying it. Who wouldn't be with these things in her home and all that had happened to her?

  Grammie, help me please. If I really did hear you the other night, I need your help now.

  She didn't get a vocal response, but smelled lemon like the candies her grandmother used to suck. Concentrating on that, the witch was able to steady her mind. Light filled her up inside as if she were flying. She envisioned the light again as bright as a star and then felt it on her face. Suddenly the shrieking stopped, and the brightness was not just inside of her mind, it was also in her house. It was so brilliant when she opened her eyes she had to squint against it. Instantly, the shadows receded back into the darkness repulsed by the glow.

  "Go.” Tremain yelled.

  Linnea nearly jumped into the other room. As soon as she crossed the barrier of the first
circle, she felt the atmosphere thicken. Tremain stood on the outside of the door, still dripping wet and holding onto the doorframe. She stared at him.

  "Why don't you come in?"

  "I ... I can't. Have to be invited."

  Like a vampire, she thought. It confirmed her theory that he was not of the world she was used to. If he was, he should have been able to cross over the barriers as if they were nothing. Any magickal or supernatural creature was not able to pass over the circle lines unless they were invited in. That was the purpose of the circle when it was cast, to create a sacred space like the consecrated ground of a cemetery, giving the witch a safe place to do her magick. She wondered if he was a fairy. He had mentioned the Banshee Queen and was affected by silver. Is it silver that fairies were frightened of or iron? I forget. No matter he had saved her life and had asked nothing of her ... well he had asked her to do a spell and was particularly rude, but no matter.

  "Come in, Tremain."

  He nodded and fell through the door. Leaning on his sword, he seemed to breathe a sigh of relief. She stared at him as he dragged himself over to an empty chair, resting his head on his hands on the pommel of the sword. His dark hair hung in his face as water puddle on her wood floor. The water droplets didn't form a pool, but stayed in droplet form, rolling out of the boundaries of the circle like being pushed by an invisible wind. She had been up here just a few hours ago, and it wasn't that powerful. She looked at the inner circle and saw the wispy smoke was now shimmering in the center of the pentacle. It had elongated to person size and appeared like an archway. Whatever had made it grow was also feeding the second circle. She wondered if it was her powers now that her magick had awakened. The circle had lain dormant for her. Even though she had done circles with the Old Cronies and her grandmother and had felt the energy of the place, it had been nothing compared to this. I seriously have to find out what is going on.

  Suddenly she heard the shrieking again. This time Tremain tried to get up, but he toppled to the ground. Linnea looked to the doorway and saw the assassins were pressing themselves against the magickal barrier trying to get in. Sensing the circle was not strong enough to keep them out, she grabbed Tremain and began to drag him inside the second circle. There was no way she was not going to distort the chalk lines. She had to take the chance they would not be erased. If that happened, then the circle would fall. It took her a moment, but she got him into the smaller circle. Miraculously the lines were only marginally smudged. His sword was still on the outside. The banshee assassins pushed around the barrier in the corners of the room trying to get in. She felt them pressing on the circle as if they were leaning on her skin. She had to chance it. It was the only weapon she had. Stepping outside the inner circle, she grabbed the sword expecting it to be heavier than what it was. There were six shadows left. One shrieked, but the energy barrier muffled the sound so she didn't have to cover her ears. It came at the wall, and Linnea reacted by stabbing at it with the sword. To her surprise, it slid through the middle of the creature. Once it did, the shadow crumbled around her into dust. The others screamed at her in frustration, but when she stabbed at them, they easily avoided her jabs.

  Finally, one found he could push his head through the invisible wall. It stopped. Linnea saw a slit appear where its mouth would have been and assumed it was smiling. It shrieked, telling the others it had found a way through. Dread and fear filled her as Linnea jumped back with the sword into the inner circle. The phantoms tried to get through that, but found they could not. However, she was not sure how long it was going to hold up against them since they were so powerful. Tremain's breathing was even more shallow and his skin grayer. Staring down at him, she sensed he was dying. She had seen it with her grandmother, had tasted the aroma of death, had felt his presence. She knew it in her bones the warrior didn't have much longer unless she could get him some help. The only place she could think of was bringing him to the Old Cronies. She didn't want to chance the shadows following her, but she had to save Tremain.

  If only you had accepted my help in the first place, she thought as a pang of sadness moved through her heart. She shook her head wondering why she was drawn to the dark stranger. The banshee hitmen pushed against the circle. The walls held, and the five shadows left were growing frustrated. Her eyes tracked from them to the portal in the middle of the pentagram. It shimmered like a pool of undisturbed water with the sun reflecting off of it. A feeling of peace came from it, and her instincts said this was the one thing which would save her and bring her away from the situation she was in. Linnea swallowed knowing it was a matter of time before the assassin made it through her grandmother's circle. Quickly, she grabbed her purse and placed the sword on top of Tremain. Finally, she lifted him a little bit to get under him when she felt a cold thread move down her spine. The shadows were almost in.

  Goddess, help me. Linnea prayed silently as she looked at the portal and then down at Tremain. The Old Cronies were her only hope. They would have an idea of how to help him. With the idea of getting Tremain the help he needed, she went backward into the unknown, hoping there was enough time.

  Chapter Eleven

  Linnea felt the cold opening against her back, but knew she couldn't wait to stop and contemplate what was on the other side. She just kept repeating to herself she was going to the Old Cronies. Now, they didn't gather in her house, they gathered in one of their houses on a regular basis. She was always invited, but never took them up on their offer. It reminded her too much of her grandmother. Her foot touched the barrier, and it felt like she received a little bit of an electric shock, but she kept going, pulling Tremain. She shut her eyes, took a deep breath and heaved his dead weight one more time. As she did, she felt herself fully pass through the doorway. It felt like a bubble had burst around her. From nowhere, hands grabbed her waist as soon as she had pulled Tremain through. They were strong. She struggled against the hold, realizing she had no idea where she was or who had her. A cold blade was pressed dangerously against her throat. Linnea tried swallowing her fear, but after everything she had been through her trembling couldn't stop.

  "How did you get here? What did you do to our brother?” A brusque and deep voice demanded in her ear. She swallowed. The blade was not taken from her throat. Her gaze slid to the side, but there was no one except green grass, and it was night where she was. Light from a fire danced in her peripheral vision. The night was clear with stars she did not know.

  "Please, I don't know how I got here. I was aiming for somewhere else. Do whatever you want with me, but help him. I think he's dying."

  There was laughter behind her from her captor and at least two others. “Silly human. We Raven Warriors are immortal. Nothing can kill us.” The blade stung her flesh where the metal bit into her skin. She closed her eyes trying to gather her fraying nerves. Raven Warriors? Where had she ventured to? What exactly was Tremain?

  "Look. I don't know what you or Tremain are. All I know is that he was attacked yesterday afternoon by—I don't know what it was. Some black-robed figure. I didn't get a look at its face. If you don't believe me, the dagger's in my bag. Be careful. I think the blade is poisoned."

  Linnea watched as one of the men knelt down next to Tremain. The firelight made his hair glint silver. The one holding her kept his rough grip as someone else rummaged through her purse. He found what he was looking for since the weight on her shoulder lessened. She ignored the trail of stickiness traveling down the line of her neck and focused on Tremain. He was barely breathing, and that sent a crack of worry through Linnea. She had no idea why she felt so strongly about him. He had never said anything sincere or nice to her. She hardly knew him. But, oh God, his kiss.

  "The witch is correct. He's been poisoned. He doesn't have much time left."

  "What do we do with the woman, Caleb?"

  The silver-haired Warrior stared at her. She felt that same pressure in her mind as she had felt from Tremain earlier, like he was reading her thoughts. “Blindfold her. And
Darius, if I hear she has been mistreated, you will answer to me. Is that understood?"

  A snort of hot breath growled into her ear, and she heard her captor mutter something. It was obvious he was not too fond of his leader. Holding her against him was getting him excited from the bulge pressed against her backside. Linnea swallowed praying she was going to be okay. It would only be her luck if she ended up in a camp of sex-deprived men who all thought she was lunch.

  "Is that clear?” Caleb asked again.

  "Yes. Nothing shall harm a hair on her pretty head."

  The knife was removed from her throat, and she was plunged into darkness. She didn't struggle because it would be pointless because they were stronger than she. She was lead away, walked for a short distance, and was brought somewhere inside because when the blindfold came off, she was staring at the man who had held the knife to her throat. He was gruff-looking with short red hair in a military-style cut. His skin was pale, and his eyes bright green. He wore a dark shirt and a red-and-black plaid kilt. Her eyes traveled to his legs which were defined but hairy. The kilt did not do a thing for her, but the sword hanging on his back appeared to be the same as the one Tremain had except it was heavier and longer, like a broadsword. He had a neatly clipped beard covering a strong square jaw. His arms were the size of small trees, and a scar ran down the side of his neck, disappearing under his shirt. She wondered where it had come from and where it ended, but was not about to ask. He caught her looking at him. One hand gripped the silver dagger that had been against her throat and the other had the blindfold. Both were crossed over his chest.