by Anna Abner
Cole slowly crossed the front porch and circled toward the rear of the house. She sawed faster.
Without her absolute compliance, Sylvester was as good as dead. She’d already proved she was willing to do anything to save him. This was hardly the most dangerous situation she’d been in. She jerked and pulled, thinking if she could escape her current insane abductor she’d have time to explain things to her blackmailer.
Cole stepped onto the back porch, and Talia froze. Even her breath gelled in her throat, but he meandered around to the other side of the house.
She rubbed at the wood until her muscles cramped and her wrists bled.
The rope frayed and finally broke free, and she whipped open the front door. She saw her car and purplish sky and freedom. What she didn’t see was Cole on the porch.
He caught her around the waist and for a moment she was airborne as she threw all her weight against him. But he was stronger than her, even weak as he was, and he dragged her back into the parlor.
“Let me go!” She kicked him hard with the heels of both feet.
An elbow landed solidly against his flank, and he growled before squeezing her ribs so tight she couldn’t breathe.
“Hugh,” he barked. When her spirit companion appeared, Cole said, “Channel power into me, or I will hurt her, and I will do it while you watch.”
Talia ceased struggling. She hadn’t known until that moment how perilous her predicament had become. She hadn’t believed, not really, that Cole was a bad guy. No matter what the Carver said about him.
His suddenly violent behavior was convincing her.
“Help me with a spell,” Cole continued, “and I swear I won’t touch a hair on her head.”
Hugh stared stonily at her. “Miss, what do I do?”
“It’s okay,” Talia said, smiling despite the fear. “Just do it.”
She deserved every awful thing Cole Burkov did to her. And then some. If this was cosmic justice for the crimes she’d committed, then so be it.
Cole pinned her arms to her side with one hand and grasped her throat with the other. He didn’t choke her, but the threat was unmistakable.
His forearm, sticky with drying blood, came sharply into focus, revealing fresh cuts up and down his flesh like fence posts. Like tally marks.
All he had to do was flex his wrist and bright red blood dribbled. His body tensed against hers, and she felt the strength vibrating within him.
He knelt, forcing her down onto the hardwood floor, too.
“Integumentum,” he spoke.
Chapter Four
Cole cast his spell, and the power seemed to pass through her, too. The room shuddered as if struck with a giant hand, and air wooshed outward. Talia imagined she could see spying spirits escaping under the force of Cole’s magic, Hugh included. Until it was just the two of them in the house.
Cole groaned, sagging a little before he released her. “It worked. Thank God.”
Talia shook off his embrace and stood, not sure whether to make a run for it. Exactly what kind of spell had he cast? Her fingers itched to get her phone and note the Latin he’d spoken before she forgot it.
“I hope you didn’t think I’d actually abduct you.” He untied her bound wrists. But he continued holding them, examining the bleeding wounds with a frown.
She snatched her hands away. “You were pretending to hold me hostage?”
“You said the Dark Caster would retaliate if you helped me.” He shrugged as if the answer was obvious. “I had to make him believe it. Because I really need your help.”
She stared at her bruised and battered wrists. She didn’t even have sterile bandages or antibiotic cream.
“I can’t stay here,” she said softly. “I have responsibilities.”
“You can leave anytime you want.” He opened the door to prove it. “But it’s safe here.”
“If I don’t stay in contact with the cabal they’ll kill my eleven-year-old nephew.”
“So, let’s contact the cabal.”
She studied him. Was he serious?
“I’m sorry if I scared you,” Cole added. “Or if I hurt you. But I have to get his attention anyway I can. He’s going after innocent people. He tried to put a demon into Rebecca Powell. He tried to open the Chaos Gate.” His voice rose. “He cannot open the Chaos Gate. That cannot happen.”
“I know, but…” Talia had such laser focus on doing what she was told in order to bring Sylvester home she hadn’t considered the peripheral damage the cabal was causing for others or how awful the nightmare spell had been for Cole.
“He kidnapped my friend, Dani Ferraro. He put me in a nightmare,” he stuttered, “in which I tortured the people I love. Over and over and over again.”
She glanced away. “Why would you think I’d help you do anything?” she asked. He shouldn’t trust her. She’d become completely untrustworthy. “I work for him.”
“Not by choice.”
The idea of hiding, even for a day, was a huge temptation. She was exhausted from the constant, crushing fear.
“He asked me to do terrible things. And I did them.” Talia inwardly cringed, images of the spell she’d recently cast flickering through her thoughts. Her guilt hurt worse than any physical pain, but she shook off the memories.
“You’re not a bad person,” he said in an off-handed way, disappearing into the kitchen.
“How do you know?” There were a few in the dark cabal who’d argue with him.
Cole ignored her and called from the next room, “Someone knows the Dark Caster’s real name. Someone knows how to get to him. And right now, you’re my best resource.”
It was ludicrous thinking the DC would show up to save her. Talia was the lowest of the low on his organization’s totem pole, so unreliable she had to be motivated with her nephew’s life.
“I don’t know anything,” she said.
“I guess I was mistaken about you.” He popped his head around the doorway. “I thought you weren’t one of those cabal bastards.”
“I’m not.” Well, sort of.
“Prove it.”
What if he could really do what he was promising? What if he could get her out of her evil contract with the cabal? Wasn’t it worth a try? Because going along with their plan wasn’t getting her any closer to Sylvester.
She recalled her handler’s recent warning. Cole Burkov is one of the most dangerous necromancers you’ll ever lay eyes on.
Grumbling, Talia said, “You better be as good as everyone says.”
“Look,” he said. “If you help me find the Dark Caster, I’ll kill him, and you’ll be safe again. And so will your nephew.”
“Your plan is to go after the Dark Caster?” she blurted out. “The most diabolical mastermind in wizarding history?”
Maybe Cole was simply crazy, and she needed to pull a quick escape.
“He can’t cast,” Cole reminded her. “Without magic, he’s just a man.”
“Yes, but to get to him you have to go through the White Wraith. And she’s enough caster for both of them. As in a torture-people-and-ask-questions-later type of girl. Killing her would be a service to humanity.”
“Okay. Where is she?”
“My handler knew,” Talia said, following him into the kitchen. “But he’s dead.”
Cole opened a cupboard, revealing a paltry supply of dry goods and bottled water. More like a seventy-two hour emergency kit than a pantry. He passed her a pouch of trail mix. “I’m sorry it’s not a better meal. We can grab some food later. After we talk.”
“It’s fine.” She nibbled on almonds and dried fruit. She didn’t plan to stay until later. But she’d hear him out.
“Derek Walker knows things,” Cole said, offering her a piece of beef jerky.
She waved it away. “I’ve heard of him.”
“We should find him before the cabal gets their hands on him.” He grimaced. “Again.”
“They have my nephew,” she reminded him. “So, if we’re g
oing to do something, it has to be fast. Once they discover I’ve gone rogue, they’ll probably kill him.”
“So we move fast.”
It was difficult trusting Cole after the way he’d dragged her out of her home, but she wanted to believe one of the good guys stood before her. That single-handedly he could face down the Dark Caster, the White Wraith, and anyone else who got in his way.
“A Chaos Gate,” she ruminated. “I heard people talking about one, but I don’t really get what it is.”
“It’s not complicated,” he assured. “You understand the way spirits and angels travel back and forth between earth and heaven.”
Not really, but she didn’t interrupt him to admit she’d learned everything she knew about casting from her spirit companion.
“Go on.”
“Well, the demon realm is different. Demons can’t escape. Except,” he stressed, “when a necromancer opens a Chaos Gate.”
She kept quiet, hoping he’d continue.
“The Dark Caster tried to open one a few years ago,” Cole said. “He was stopped after creating the first pillar by agents of heaven and stripped of his ability to cast magic.” He frowned at her. “Did he ever talk about it?”
She also would not admit she’d never actually spoken to the boss man in person. “The first pillar?” she asked instead.
“The spell requires three pillars,” he explained. “They haven’t conjured the first, because every caster in the world will feel it in their guts when they do, but they’re close. Too close.” When she still didn’t respond, he added, “Their biggest spell to date was summoning a demon into Rebecca Powell. They failed, but they won’t stop trying. Once they do that, it will raise the first pillar.”
“Can a witch cast a summoning spell?” Talia asked. Necromancers could pull one off, but witches?
“I don’t think so. Where is the White Wraith?”
“I have no idea.” The witch operated in secrecy. If anyone in the cabal actually knew where she slept, they certainly wouldn’t disclose it to Talia.
“This is what we’ll do,” Cole said, settling into a high stool on one side of the breakfast bar. “Tonight, you’ll summon the Dark Caster’s spirit companion and relay my ultimatum. Meet us in a neutral place, or he’ll never see you alive again.”
She must have blanched involuntarily because he quickly added, “It’s a bluff. I have a feeling he wants you around, even if he has to blackmail you to do it. I think he’ll fight to keep you in his cabal.”
Talia wasn’t so confident. Most of the time she felt like a necessary, yet barely tolerated, annoyance. “I can’t risk staying for more than a day.”
“Then stay one day and help me.”
The idea of fighting back for a change exhilarated her. She’d felt helpless for a long time.
“Twenty-four hours,” she agreed. “And not a minute longer.”
“Now, we may even be able to use my invisibility against them,” he said.
She set aside her snack and rolled her wrists, examining the extent of the damage. Only skin deep.
“Are you in pain?” Cole asked, rounding the bar to get a better look.
“No. It’s fine.” He was too close, too unpredictable. “Is there running water? I want to clean up.”
“Sure.” He eased away as if sensing her discomfort. “I keep the water, power, and sewer current. Just in case. Make yourself at home.”
She took the long way around him to avoid any accidental contact, though she watched him in her periphery. A tall, dark figure at the corner of her eye.
There was soap at the sink, and she spent long minutes washing her wrists clean of bacteria and debris, revealing simple rope burns and scratches. Nothing serious.
“I don’t have any bandages in the house,” Cole said, his deep voice penetrating her consciousness. “But I can make one out of a sheet or something.”
She drip-dried her hands. “Thanks, anyway.” She glanced at him, absorbing the sight of dark hair obscuring his eyes and sharp shoulder ridges under a filthy shirt. She swallowed, flicking water off her fingers.
The stillness was eerie. She hadn’t realized how much noise she and Hugh made in her little house until he was gone.
The safe house Cole had created with a single word was impressive. Impenetrable by spirits. Soundproof to humans, too, she bet. The complexity of the spell was well beyond her experience or skill, which surprised her considering Talia was a born necromancer and Cole wasn’t.
“How long does this spell last?”
He shrugged. “As long as I have blood in my body.”
“What is this place?”
“The Couser farm.” Cole cleaned up their snack and the familiar, everyday noises filled the uncomfortable silence.
“People actually live here?” It didn’t seem likely. Yes, the house was clean and neat, but it lacked any warmth. The sparse furnishings dotted the rooms more like memorials to another lifetime than functional equipment.
“It’s been vacant for a while.”
“But you’ve been here recently,” she said. “It’s nearly spotless.”
Cole stood, mute. Tall, haggard, and silent.
Fine.
“Then why are we here of all places? You know a lot of abandoned houses?” Talia prodded. If he said he lived there, she’d be shocked.
“It’s my house,” he said. “I bought it.”
“For its obvious charms,” she said, layering the sarcasm. “But you don’t live here.”
“No,” he said, switching on the chandelier in the stairwell. “It has no charm.”
No, it sure didn’t. Flickering, yellow light and long shadows added to its spooky ambiance.
“Then why buy it at all?”
He gestured for her to precede him up the narrow staircase. “Have you heard of Milton Couser?”
“No. Is he famous or something?”
“More like infamous. He killed his first victim in this house. Come on.” He reached the top of the stairs. “I’ll show you.”
Curious, Talia followed him into an empty bedroom. A narrow door led to a wraparound balcony that connected all the second floor bedrooms.
“Out here.” He unlatched the door and leaned over the railing.
“I don’t like this,” she admitted. The bad feeling intensified. Not even an interest in seeing what was out there could override it. “That wood could give way at any second.”
But Cole wasn’t listening.
“Milton was nine when he pushed a seven-year-old playmate over this balcony. It was declared an accident at the time, but years later while on death row Milton confessed to picking the boy up and tossing him. Just to see what would happen.”
She’d always been sensitive to the suffering of kids, and was even more so since her nephew had been snatched by a group of psychopaths.
She backed away, but Cole’s voice followed her.
“He went through years of intensive therapy, and then at eighteen, he enrolled at the University of North Carolina. As a freshman, he murdered six young women.”
“I don’t want to hear anymore.” She relived flashes of Cole’s insane eyes as he dragged her out of her kitchen. She couldn’t even cast to protect herself because he’d sent Hugh away. Hovering in the doorway, torn between running and hearing him out, Talia felt exactly as powerless against him as she did against the cabal.
“Couser talked himself into their dorm rooms while they were home alone, raped them, and beat them to death with his bare hands—”
“Cole!” Talia snapped. “I said enough.”
“Ten years ago, he was executed by the state, but he was such a kind-hearted soul,” sarcasm dripped from every word, “he donated his organs to those on transplant lists. Including his heart, which went to a twenty-year-old kid who desperately needed it to live to see thirty.” He scratched the spot around his surgery scar.
She paused in her rush out the door, his words crystallizing in her mind. “Are you saying�
��”
“I have a serial killer inside me.”
Chapter Five
For a moment Talia froze.
Cole had gone through a heart transplant. And his donor was a serial killer.
But it didn’t mean the murderer resided inside Cole. That was silly. “No, you received a transplant, but a piece of human flesh does not contain a person’s personality or soul. That’s science fiction.”
She’d heard stories of made necromancers, always fascinating, but had never met one. The cabal was open to born casters only. Made ones were on a lower evolutionary tier, as far as the Dark Caster was concerned, which was another reason the DC probably didn’t want Cole to join. He’d rather use him and then kill him.
Silhouetted by the balcony doors, Cole stared right back. “I wasn’t a necromancer until his heart pulsed in my chest. It’s not my power allowing me to cast. It’s his.”
That just didn’t sit well with Talia. She hated that he hurt himself, but it was worse that he thought a serial killer lurking in his blood was the actual source of his power. That it had nothing to do with him.
“Your heart stopped beating during the surgery. At least for a little while before your new one started up. That’s how you became a necromancer.”
Her mind raced. She had so many questions. First, though, she had to convince him that his heart was just a heart.
“I thought the same thing until I saw this.” Cole passed her to open the closet door.
Burned into the hardwood floor was something very familiar. A spell circle and four spell marks she didn’t recognize, but she assumed were professional level, black magic heavy hitters.
“Your donor was a necromancer.” His story just got stranger and stranger.
“He was,” Cole agreed. “He is.”
“You said he was executed.”
“He feels very much alive.” Cole tapped the center of his chest.
She yearned to argue with more logic, but he wasn’t receiving it. She’d love some back-up, someone familiar and on her side.
“Can I invite Hugh in now?”
“No,” he answered fast. Too fast. “We need to talk privately a little longer.”
