by Brea Viragh
Karsia got to her feet with a snigger. “You’re weak. All of you. To think any of this is going to stop once I’m back to normal. I’m the only one who can go up against these people and come out unscathed. What do you think you can do? With your piddling magic?”
“Aren’t these people your governing body? Are you sure you want to start a war with them?” Morgan asked.
“I’ll start a war with whomever I please. I’m more than capable.”
Astix bristled. “You better stop right there.”
“Stop what? Telling the truth?” Karsia waved her arms dramatically. “You want me to stop because you can’t handle it. You’ve always been—”
Astix raised an arm and in the blink of an eye, purple light surrounded Karsia, pinning her in place with arms splayed to the side.
Her black gaze swept violently over them as she fought against the hold.
Morgan jolted and fell back against the bookshelf. “What the shit?” The glow from several spheres of black obsidian and amethyst around the room caught his attention.
Astix approached her sister until they were a breath apart. “Do not mistake my compassion for weakness. I am not afraid to get nasty if it’s for your own good. We are getting this thing out of you.” She leaned in closer. “Tonight.”
Her fingers snapped and she whipped around toward Morgan. “Professor, with me.”
“What are you two going to do? Fuck?” Karsia laughed maniacally. She tested the invisible restraints and found them strong. “Take him, I don’t care. I don’t care what you do! I’m the only one with enough balls to follow through with anything meaningful. You’re weak. Weak!”
Morgan ignored the harsh words and followed Astix to the corner of the room. She drew on more gemstones to surround them with a partial barrier no sound could penetrate.
“Are you—” he began.
She shushed him until she completed the spell and let out a breath of air. “Anything you can remember about the tablet you found, you need to tell me now,” Astix told him in a hushed whisper. “I can’t go off half-cocked when I don’t have all the information.”
“I’ve been looking,” he insisted quietly. “I haven’t found anything so far.” He wished he had better news for her. “There’s nothing written about a reversal. Once two people take up the position it seems to be permanent until another takes their place. It’s dependent on free will. The stone merely retells the details of the story hundreds of years after it actually happened. It’s not like we’re talking about a first-hand account.”
Astix blinked rapidly. “Would it help if I took you there? To the stone?”
At once he focused his full attention on her. “You know where it is?” Morgan’s heart fluttered and he looked down at the small woman with a new respect. She seemed too young to have such weight on her.
“Yes. Will it help? You’re clearly more than you appear. I’m not sure what you are, man or god or somewhere in between. But I can recognize the bigger picture and a far greater power at work here. What do you need from me?”
He considered the possibilities. The tablet he’d helped translate mentioned the stone as part of a story. A key component too fantastical to be real. The possibility of seeing it now…it was better than the best Christmas present.
“It may help. I’m still not sure what to do.”
“We’ve been working on gathering research since the incident, Aisanna and me. And we think we’ve found a way to force Darkness back into the stone. I wasn’t sure about it, too many missing pieces in the picture.” Astix cracked her knuckles and glanced around Morgan toward Karsia. Though they heard nothing she saw the girl’s mouth moving, forming creative and horrible obscenities.
“How will you do it?”
“I have to keep a few things up my sleeve until we know more. Can’t have you telling her accidentally and spoiling it.”
“I would never!”
“And I can’t take chances. Please understand.”
“Seems fair,” Morgan amended.
“It’s getting worse so we need to hurry. Do you think you can help?”
“I’ll do what I can, though I make no promises.” He spared a glance at Karsia. “For some reason, I find myself willing to do anything for her.”
Astix shrugged the collar of her coat higher. “Join the club.”
CHAPTER 13
Just as Astix released the aura around her and Morgan, a loud thud on the front door interrupted the conversation. Karsia and Astix both swiveled their heads around at the sound while Morgan stood still, considering their options.
“It could be Elon doubling back. He doesn’t have a key.” Astix rubbed her elbows and sighed. “Dad is still upstairs, so I’ll go let him in.”
Karsia jerked, her teeth bared. “You think I can’t get out of this bind? I can!”
“You just stay there and try.” Astix studied her sister closely and whatever she saw there had her hastening her steps. She wrapped her hand around the massive doorknob and pulled. “Be good.”
The moment Astix left the room, Karsia wiggled her toes and broke the enchantment. It was easy to find the weakness in her sister’s magic and exploit it until the gems turned dark. The taint of her power flared out and filled her senses with the smell of dead things and rotting garbage.
“It was getting a little hard to hold it without laughing.” She plopped down on the couch and cracked her neck with such force it would have broken under different circumstances. Grinning at Morgan, she stretched her cramped muscles. “I let her think it worked,” she told him. “So she feels safe.”
“This is a game to you?” he asked, eyeing the creature in front of him. “I didn’t realize you cared enough about her feelings.”
Karsia shot him a sly smile. “Maybe. Maybe not.”
Morgan was already making for the door as he tried to puzzle out her last bit of information. “I should go check on everyone.”
“Oh, stay here. It’s not like I’m playing games with you.” Her grin turned smug. “You know I wouldn’t do anything to hurt you. Right?”
His surprise was there and gone in an instant. “We’re going to fix this,” he told her with an appropriate amount of sympathy and honesty.
“Don’t waste your breath. My hope is gone, and you’re only here to look pretty.”
**
Astix moved down the hallway to the open foyer, the ceiling soaring two stories overhead. A single staircase curved gracefully to the left and connected both floors of the house. She remembered her mother in her glory days, with such fondness for grand entrances, sweeping down those stairs with the poise and grace of Scarlett O’Hara in Gone with the Wind. Always a fan of making a scene, with a fabulous flair for the dramatic.
Would Varvara recover to take up the mantle again?
Everything looked the same. Runners of deep crimson reached down the length of the long center hallway. Numerous cleaning ladies were kept on retainer. The floors, woodwork, and furniture gleamed like stars under the light of the crystal chandelier. The rooms were characteristically neat, except for her father’s study.
Astix wondered if the house would fall into disarray while her mother stayed in a coma, or if Thorvald had the cleaning service on speed dial.
The ambiance was one of means. Years of polish and familiar charm. There had been parties there, more regularly than not, women in expensive dress and garb gliding down those halls in style. Her father’s banking associates gathered in the den and smoking parlor, puffing religiously on cigars and pontificating dryly about market management and fiscal years.
Those days were in the past. Would probably never be again.
Pushing the memories aside, Astix turned the knob, opening the front door to reveal three men on the stoop. They looked like a flock of crows, dressed in matching black suits and shoes and coats. The coats were hung from their shoulders, casually, as if the cold didn’t bother them, leaving the coat sleeves dangling like limp wings.
Her mind flashed back to the three dead crows she’d found on her doorstep. Ice formed in her veins and her back stiffened.
“Cavaldi residence?” the first man asked. A large brimmed hat hid the majority of his face from sight though she caught a flash of pale hair, deep eyes, white teeth.
“Who are you?” Astix refused to budge. Her fingers dug into the wooden molding of the doorjamb.
No one spoke.
“Astix?” Thorvald croaked out from the top of the stairs.
She glanced up at her father, surprised he’d found the strength to move. “Dad.”
He hung over the railing and peered down at them. “Are you folks from the hospital?” His salt-and-pepper hair was stringy from days of negligence, unkempt and straw-like. The hand gripping the banister trembled.
Astix registered the changes, knowing on any given day she would have fired back with a retort that was both insolent and creative. Now those words dried on her tongue and she felt only pity.
“I’m going to assume you’re not from the hospital,” Astix muttered, returning her attention to the strangers. She might not be able to detect magical signatures from them, but her intuition was screaming.
At last the lead man dropped his hat to his chest and spoke in dulcet tones. “You know what they say about when you assume, Miss.”
“Do I know you?”
“Not yet.” The man finally glanced up, his smile deepening. “But you will soon.”
“Get down!” Thorvald roared.
Astix didn’t question the demand and immediately dropped to the floor. Her knee bashed into the marble as she rolled to the side. The three men shed their coats, their exposed hands primed with magic at their sides. They walked inside.
“We don’t want any trouble, Mr. Cavaldi,” the first stated with forced calm. Sparks flew and Astix saw, out of the corner of her eyes, this wasn’t ordinary magic. “There is no need for conflict here. We simply want to take your daughters downtown for a word. All three of them.”
“You lose the right to a peaceful negotiation the instant you walk into my house uninvited.” Thorvald raised his fists threateningly. Instantly, both glowed with a deep, eggplant-purple aura. “Now get out. I won’t tell you a second time.”
“Dad? Don’t do anything stupid,” Astix cautioned, her arms over her head.
“I’m afraid we can’t leave, sir. We are under strict orders to apprehend the girls.”
“Orders from whom?”
“Orestes Voltaire.”
Astix glanced up, color draining from her face and leaving it stiff. “Leo?” she squeaked out.
“Then it seems Orestes and I are of differing opinions yet again.” Thorvald straightened his back. “The girls are leaving, but not with you. I would never allow a man like Orestes to harm my children.”
“Your children are a menace to society,” the man said with a snarl, the others flanking close behind him and bodies tensed for action. “One an abomination, one a sociopath, and the other willing to destroy an entire city block for her own amusement. Thank goodness we have the fourth in our Vault, withering away and begging to see the sunlight. Our people need to feel safe. This is the only way we can continue to do our jobs.”
“You’re wrong.”
“They must be taken in immediately for the protection of our community.”
“My wife is in a coma, thanks to you,” Thorvald growled, “and you have the audacity to come here and insult me? Threaten my children and taunt me with my son? Tell Orestes he can have my girls over my cold, dead body.”
“If that’s what you want. No one can say we didn’t warn you.” All three men raised their hands chest-level.
Thorvald retaliated quickly, shards of marble from the stairs shattering and raining down on them like tiny projectiles.
“Gentlemen, prepare yourselves.”
Savage glee warred with despair when he drew on every ounce of magic he possessed, knowing the secrets of the house like the back of his hand. There were precautions in place for such an occasion, should the need arise. He used his height to its utmost advantage, conjuring lances of diamond and slamming each down in a ring around the intruders.
The three men under Orestes’s orders let loose their power. Astix knew then, knew exactly what had happened. This was rogue magic, impacted by the thinning veil. Wild. Uncontrollable. Sparks flew and shredded curtains. Plaster cracked, falling to the floor and shattering. Astix heard screaming as she cowered near a table.
Thorvald laughed, the sound booming out and knocking several books and knickknacks from nearby shelves. After a brief hesitation, Astix turned to him, blinking rapidly to keep the dust from her eyes. “You need help, Daddy?”
“Back away, Mr. Cavaldi!” Three men countered the attack. The first stepped forward and when he spoke, his voice was amplified. “Our fight is not with you. Orestes will surely forgive this violent act if you turn your daughters over to him.”
Thorvald stood on the second-floor landing surveying the devastation before him. None of it mattered. The ornate decorations and carefully handcrafted treasures fell before him. When a splinter of wood from the banister snapped against his shin he showed no emotion.
“I do not bow to Orestes, and it is high time someone knocked him off his high horse!”
Lungs working like bellows and running out of patience, he fought the elemental witches before him without a care if he won or lost.
“Get out now!” he called to Astix. “I’ll hold them off.”
Astix ducked when gemstones exploded from the walls to imprison the three intruders within a crystalline jail cell and cutting off the flow of their power. “Let me help you!”
She added her own mettle to the fight and the floor buckled underfoot. Once, she’d drawn up the very magma from the earth’s core. She could do it again.
Thorvald drew himself up until he stood straight and tall, his vitality restored with the use of his gift. An almost joyful tint took over his face as he threw wave after wave at the strangers. “Get your sister out of here and find Aisanna. Fix this! You’re the only one who can. It’s always been you, Astix.”
Sparks and shots rang out throughout the corridors and Astix found herself yelling again. “Why does everyone keep saying that to me?”
A tornado-like gust of wind pelted Thorvald with the remnants of his own crystals. He fell back as they whipped at his exposed skin, scratching lines in his face.
“Go,” he demanded, blood dripping to the floor. “Now! I shouldn’t have to tell you again.”
Astix turned the stairs into a landslide of debris when one of the men ventured to climb. He dropped to the floor with a howl, his ankle fractured.
She couldn’t argue even if she wanted to. The weight of Thorvald’s order pushed her forward against her will. Physically moved her away from the scuffle.
One of the men reached out when she bolted past. He gripped a handful of the dark hair hanging to her shoulders and pulled her back with a yank. Astix screeched, landing on the floor between them and clawing at his hand to get free.
The man’s grip tightened while she beat at him, slapped in panic. Her scream petered out into a gurgle when his free hand circled her throat. Squeezed to silence her.
“You bitch,” he murmured amidst the free-for-all. “You’ll pay for what you’ve done. What you are. You’re a disgrace to our society.”
Astix fought to draw in air. She scrambled, the tips of her feet grazing the floor as the man proved stronger than she. Dimly she heard her father yelling and begging her to fight back.
She had to get free. To free herself and get the others out of the house.
A wave of marble and diamond assaulted the man and knocked him off balance. His grip loosened. With a sudden inhalation, she fell to the floor. Pain radiated out from every portion of her body.
The man slammed backward into a cabinet, and wood crunched and pristine white-pillared candles cracked under his weight.
“Astix, move y
our ass!” Thorvald commanded a final time.
While the powerhouses battled it out, and determined to ignore her own throbbing neck, Astix cocooned herself in a protective shell of energy and ran back to the den for the others. She ducked when part of the ceiling collapsed behind her, cutting the hallway off.
Drawing her body agilely forward, Astix maneuvered through the debris field and leaped up in time to avoid the gaping maw of the cracked floor, shards of material fissuring out like so many broken teeth. She burst through the door and shook plaster from her body.
“What happened to you?” Morgan was on his feet in an instant. “We heard noises but couldn’t get through the door. It wouldn’t budge.”
Another one of her father’s tricks, Astix thought to herself. “Out the back,” she told them. The sounds of a scuffle echoed behind her. In a distant part of her mind, she was dimly aware of the weeping, the choking sobs clawing their way from her bruised throat. “We have to leave.”
Morgan glanced at the door and hunched in on himself. The walls shook. “Shouldn’t we help?”
“It would only make him madder.” Astix considered her father’s wishes and girded herself against the protestations.
“Why would I run away from a fight?” Karsia asked with a laugh. “This is exactly what I wanted. They came to me!” She waved a hand and they heard a body slam against the wall, glass cracking. “You see? I can kill from wherever I am. I don’t even need to be in the same room.”
Astix and Morgan shared a look. “Out. Now.”
“You can’t stop me.”
“I don’t know how long I can knock her out this time,” Morgan admitted to Astix. He noted the marks on her skin, deep, blossoming out from the distinctive shape of fingers.
“Long enough to get her out of here?” Astix hiccupped and winced in pain.
“Maybe. Less if she fights me.”
“It’s a risk I’m willing to take.”
Karsia jumped to press herself against the farthest wall, staring at them both through impossibly wide eyes. “You’re not touching me.”
