And this woman, this Jezamine, was supposed to be on their side?
Finally he spotted an arched entrance ahead. A cackle filled the air, reminding him of the perfect evil witch from movies of old. He reached back and tightened a grip on BrynTröll. He wanted to draw his axe, feel its heft in his palm, but he heeded Cat’s warning. No use offending the witch. Yet.
He stepped into the entrance, then stopped short. The cavern was huge, the ceiling a good thirty feet overhead. As big as a football field, the place no longer smelled of damp swamp, but of fresh water. There was no way they were still beneath the New Orleans graveyard anymore.
The walls reflected pinpricks of light, as if made of crystal.
In front of them stretched a long table, velvety black cloth draped on top of it. And on the cloth, a mix of magical implements lay cluttered, yet strangely from the corner of his eye, he could almost sense a pattern to the chaos.
“Ah, ye are here. ’Bout time.”
Eric spun. From an archway to the left, an old crone stepped forth. She cackled again, raising the hairs on his arms. Her blackened lips stretched, revealing a mostly toothless grin, as she glided forward like someone much younger than her appearance suggested.
Mussed, thin gray hair hung wildly around her heavily wrinkled, plump face. She stopped just a few feet away. He stared down at the short witch as she sniffed the air. Her black, depthless eyes crinkled. “Ye be havin’ a fine time afore ye came, me thinks.”
He couldn’t pinpoint her scent, but she wasn’t human. “What are you?”
Jezamine shot him a glare. “None of yer business, boy.”
Cat laid a hand on his arm and stepped in front of him. “Thank you for having us here.” She bowed her head.
The witch lost a miniscule portion of her air of danger. “Child. Been a while.” Her gaze pinned Eric. “Why ye be bringing this brute?”
“He’s helping me.”
The witch cackled. “Aye, I suppose so. Yer famine done turned to feast. Ye love him yet?”
Cat blushed furiously, looking anywhere but at him or the witch. “We didn’t come to discuss my sex life.”
“Oh? Ye sure ’bout that?”
“Yes,” Cat replied emphatically.
“Hmm. Methinks ye be wrong.” Jezamine glided to the table, rearranging a few of the items on it so fast her hands were a blur. Then she froze, slowly turning to face them. Her eyes were unfocused, though she seemed to be staring not at him, but all the way into his very soul.
“Damaged.”
“Aye,” he replied, though he hadn’t meant to.
“Haunted.”
“Aye.” Again, the reply came against his will. He struggled against the spell, though he didn’t feel entrapped.
“Not bespelled. Just speaking true,” the woman said, moving around him in a circle. When she reached his front, she held out one thick arm, pointing a finger at his chest. When one black talon-like nail touched the scars over his heart, he wanted to scream. Instead, a feeling of peace drifted over him. “It be yer choice, boy. Ye can cling to the past, let it rule you. Or ye can let the Fates send yer future as they be tryin’ to do.”
The peaceful warmth fled, leaving him feeling lost, lonely. He glanced from the witch to Cat, not sure what had just happened.
“What did you do to me?” he growled.
The witch merely grinned. “Showed ye what ye can have, if ye let go.” Jezamine pointed to a shadowy alcove along one wall. “Shackle yer prisoner over there. We’ll see what’s to see.”
Eric led the moaning man over. Torches flared to life at his approach. He hesitated, then with a deep breath, did as the witch bid.
After chaining the man to the wall, he stepped back. Jezamine glided over, a dark bag with strange markings in her clawish hands. She shook the bag up and down the man’s body. The reaction was nearly immediate. He began to scream.
Eric knew the sound well. It was one of deep anguish, a scream coming from the pit of the man’s soul as he was tortured, and knew he would never get away.
Jezamine snapped her fingers in front of the man’s face and the shrill cries cut off. His eyes slipped closed and his head fell forward, unconscious.
“Well, now. That be that.” The witch shook her head, and Eric thought he saw a deep worry flash through her gaze. A second later, her face was enigmatic once more. She spun, heading back to the table. “Come, girl. Let us seek yer answers.”
Eric wanted to turn and flee this place and this woman who saw so deep inside him. Instead, he stayed by Cat’s side as she approached the far end of the table.
Jezamine lifted a silver cup etched with strangely wavering runes around the sides. She shook it three times, then dumped its contents out onto a clear circular area surrounded by small crystals.
Eric nearly jumped, his stomach roiling as he realized the cup had held human finger bones. Small ones, childlike. “Where—”
“Hush, boy. No murders brought me these. That not be conductive to speaking with the Fates,” she whispered harshly. Bending over the table, she studied the bones.
“Ah. Yes. Then?” She poked at one bone and it rolled to its side. “But what...”
Another bone spun without being touched.
Eric shook his head, his muscles tense, ready to fight or flee, whatever came his way.
As if sensing his turmoil, Cat grabbed his hand and held tight.
The witch continued to stare at the bones, muttering every now and then. Time passed, though he couldn’t quite figure out how long they’d been down in this place.
The old crone glanced up at him sharply. She waved a hand to the right and ghosts sprung from the floor. The red-headed sorceress standing beside his sire’s twin sister. His tormenters.
His heart thumped as they both laughed soundlessly, staring at him with deep hunger, ready to continue his tortures.
“They be in yer head, boy. Not real.” The witch’s lips didn’t move, as if she spoke to him, mind to mind.
A haze covered his thoughts, like being sucked into a dream. Real enough, he thought.
“No. Ye have power. Send their remnants back to hell. Be strong, and they will leave ye be.”
Can’t.
“Can. But ye need a reason to fight it. To fight yer own mind. Look at the girl beside ye.”
He didn’t feel himself move, but suddenly he was looking at Cat. She seemed not to notice anything going on, just continued to watch the witch.
“She be precious. Be she important enough to fight yerself?”
Aye, he replied, no hesitation, the answer coming from his heart.
The witch chortled with glee.
Cat blinked as if coming out from a trance. “What do you see?”
“Lots, girl. The Fates show me all, and it’s good for ye. At least, after.”
“After what?” she asked.
“After ye destroy that which seeks to destroy ye both.”
Eric growled. First the witch invaded his head. Now she gave them cryptic answers. “And what might that be?”
Jezamine glanced at him, her black eyes glowing. “Ain’t gonna like it. But will ye fight or flee?”
“I’ll fight,” he replied.
Cat squeezed his hand.
The witch cackled and the hair on his nape stood straighter. “Even if what ye face be old, dark magics? Ye two be facing Voudon. Not be easy to fight, not be easy to survive.”
“Voodoo?” Cat whispered, though she didn’t seem surprised. “Are you sure?”
The witch glared. “Fates tell me, I tell ye. Zombie man over there tells all.”
“Sorry.”
Mollified, Jezamine picked up one of the finger bones. “It be a winding path ye both must take. Decisions ye don’t want to make. Fate has brought ye together. To destroy this. To destroy yer own past haunts. If either falter, neither survive.”
“Can we succeed?” Cat asked cautiously, her grip on his hand tightening.
“Maybe,” was Jezamin
e’s reply. She pinned Eric with her gaze. “Ye leave, this girl dies. Ye try sending her away, ye will die. Ye two must work together. Ye, warrior, need her, and her magic.”
He looked between the two women.
Cat blushed, avoiding his gaze.
He let go of her hand as if burned. He’d known she was keeping a secret from him, but not in a million years would he have guessed it could be this.
His throat tightened and he forced himself to ask, “What magic?”
Chapter Eighteen
Jezamine snapped her fingers in front of his face. He hadn’t even heard her move. “Not the question to ask. Ye blind, boy? Not be noticin’ the state of the world this past year?”
“What?”
“Vampires and shifters, working together. Truces held for decades, even centuries breaking down. Evil getting stronger. Ye seen it around yer home, now ye be seeing it elsewhere. War be coming. Again.”
“What war?” Cat asked.
“Every so often, powers ye know not about, from both the heavens and the hells, use yer kind to fight their battles. Evil be winning this time.” She poked him in the chest. “Will ye let pride rule, or will ye fight for the girl?”
He shook his head, not knowing the answer, not able to think. Cat was just like those from his past? Magic?
Had everything he’d been feeling been a ruse, a spell she used to wrap him under her control?
As if reading his mind yet again, Jezamine said, “She not be that kind of magic, idiot. Girl, show him.”
Cat stepped back, her gaze panicked like a deer facing down a barreling eighteen-wheeler on some dark stretch of highway. “He hates magic,” she whispered.
Triumph filled him. So she had been hiding it from him. Why did the knowledge make him feel so hollow?
“Show him,” Jezamine repeated.
With a listless shrug, Cat raised her hands. A ball of fire erupted from her palms, hovering in the air. Her face, already pale, turned ghostly white as if it took all her energy to conjure.
“You’re a witch too,” he barked out.
Cat shook her head. “I’m part fey.”
“Fairy?”
“Yes. Someone, far back in my family’s history, married a fey. The bloodline, though weakening through the generations, has been passed down. I have no magic other than this affinity with fire. I don’t do spells, or anything else.”
“The girl speaks true. She don’t have no power like me.” A breeze rose and lashed across his cheek.
He rubbed his face, disbelieving. The witch had just slapped him with the air.
“Ye answered my question earlier. Now, ye shrink with fear. The warrior refuses to face his past,” Jezamine croaked. “I ask again. Be she worth it?”
He glanced at Cat, who let the flames flicker out and dropped her hands, then looked back at Jezamine. He couldn’t answer.
He didn’t trust either of them. How could he believe her magic was limited to fire? There was no way he could deal with being around Cat. Not right now, maybe not ever. Not after what they’d recently shared, and the way this knowledge shattered something deep in his chest. He felt like he was bleeding inside, from a wound that would never heal.
Jezamine stared at him. “Then ye cast her to her death.”
With a cry of despair, Cat raced from the cavern.
The lights blinked out. When his vision adjusted to the dark, both women were gone and he was once more standing in the tunnel. The entrance to the cavern had disappeared.
Behind him, he heard Cat’s heavy steps as she fled.
* * *
Cat reached the graveyard and didn’t slow down. Her vision wavered from the tears burning at the back of her eyes, but she refused to let them fall.
She stumbled over a headstone and fell into the grass. Clawing to her feet, she ran on, not knowing, not caring, where she was going. She felt lost.
Alone.
As if something inside had shattered beyond repair.
And she was amazed how much Eric had come to mean to her in the short time he’d been there. How deeply she cared.
But it was all lost now.
She hadn’t exactly hidden her magic from him... she just hadn’t told him.
The icy wind slapped against her as she raced between two tall mausoleums and into a deep stretch of shadows.
He’d never get past the fact she had elemental magic. Never believe she wasn’t witch or sorceress, trying to bespell him to her will.
Shoulders slumping, she bit her tongue until blood welled. She refused to cry. Not over a jerk like him.
She had no one to blame but herself. She’d seduced him, knowing nothing could come of it.
Something clattered nearby and she slowed, glancing around. A part of her hoped it was Eric, coming after her, but as long moments passed in silence, she knew her wish was futile. Someone with magic had damaged him badly. Obviously, he’d never be able to get past that, to see the difference between her fey heritage and a witch’s powers.
She stopped, fisting her hands and staring up at the cloud filled sky as snowflakes began to fall around her. This wasn’t the time to fall into a pity-trap. She had too many people depending on her.
So she’d go it alone.
She’d been whining about how hard it was to find out any information, but if she had to burn every damn building in New Orleans to the ground, she’d find some answers.
She took a step toward the city, determined that tonight there would be no stopping until she found something, anything. She would damn well not let any more coven members down. Find those who were missing. Keep the rest safe.
A low growl rent the silence a second before a large, furry body slammed into her, sending her flailing. She slammed head first into a gravestone. The rock crumbled and pain blazed over her forehead.
Howls rose as more wolves surrounded her. She blinked, blood dripping into one eye. Her thoughts spun dizzily and her head pounded.
She scrambled to her feet as the wolves circled, yipping.
* * *
Eric wandered the graveyard aimlessly. Snow fell once more. Cold. He felt chilled to the bone in only his jeans and t-shirt. He didn’t care. His chest hurt, he felt like he was breaking.
The sorceress and his king’s sister laughed, ready to torment him for eternity. He heard the flick of a whip and fire seared over his skin. It didn’t cut through the ice in his blood.
He felt betrayed. By the witch. By Cat. They’d made love, and he’d felt... like coming home. As if they belonged together.
“Damn you, Fates,” he cried out to the dark, empty tombstones and mausoleums.
A soft hand brushed the back of his neck a split second before long, sharp nails sank deep into his skin. The decaying, flowery scent of the sorceress surrounded him. His strength fled.
“As if one such as she could ever care for a weak, useless coward as yourself,” she whispered, her laugh filling his head, echoing until he fell to his knees.
Covering his ears, though it didn’t help—the damn ghost was in his fucking mind—he shook his head against her words.
“Weak,” Fiona’s voice swirled around him.
“Useless,” the sorceress joined in. He felt the agony of her beasts sinking claws and fangs into his skin.
“Coward.”
Being eaten.
“Unable to save anyone you’ve ever loved.” Fire whipped over his back. Once more the blazing heat of the sorceress’s brand seared against his leg. “Not even your brother. How do you know he’s not lying dead somewhere? And you didn’t save him.”
“No!” he screamed, slamming his fists against the ground.
Jumping to his feet, ignoring the pain nearly crippling him, Eric drew his axe and swung at the sorceress’s image. It cut through her without effect and slammed into stone. The wing of an angel, watching over a grave, shattered.
The sorceress crooked an eyebrow at him, her grin widening.
“The woman put you under her sp
ell. She’s just like us,” she whispered over and over. “Too busy dallying with a witch to save your brother.”
Sweat beaded on his brow as his insides convulsed. His blood boiled, poison from rowan slivers suddenly embedded in his skin waged war on his strength.
“Doomed to fail. Again and again. Until the day you join us in hell.” The sorceress laughed, unending shrieks of glee.
He swung BrynTröll at her again. She didn’t care. She wasn’t truly there. Just a remnant from his hellish past.
He was trapped. Trapped in his own mind.
He was insane.
And there was no way out. Nothing to save him.
His heart yearned to seek Cat out, to be with her once more. Yet, it felt like it would be selling his soul. His brother...
Brandon couldn’t be dead.
He hated it. Hated what she was. Hated his king, who’d sent him into this mess.
But most of all, he hated himself.
And he knew deep inside, that if anything had happened to his brother, there’d be nothing left for him in this world to hold on to. His memories would take him, keep him, forcing him to relive his tortures.
The witch’s words whispered to him, cutting through the sorceress’s laughter. “Ye must fight the past. Cathrina is the only one that can save ye, and ye must save her. Right now, her life hangs on the edge.”
At Jezamine’s voice, the voices from his past became whispers, the pain wavered.
In the distance, wolves howled. A woman screamed.
Cat.
The thought of her in danger sent his pulse spiking. He had to help her.
He struggled to rise to his feet, but a gust of wind slammed across his back, knocking him to the frozen ground.
The sorceress and Fiona began to laugh once more, their voices drowning out the rest of the world. His vision wavered, showing him images from the dark dungeons of the past. His mind grew hazy from agonizing heat slashing over his skin.
He couldn’t fight this.
Hadn’t ever been able to.
In his mind, he heard Cat’s whispered words, calling him a brave, strong warrior.
It snapped him back to the graveyard, and the sound of attacking wolves.
The sorceress stood over him, eyes lit with glee as fire lashed over his back.
Firestorm: Heart of a Vampire #5 Page 12
