by Morgan Wylie
“He looks bad. We need to form a protective circle. After we have invoked the elements and I give you the signal, have Rylen brought to the edge of the circle.” She looked Mather straight into his eyes, deadly serious. “He will fight you. The invading magic will not be welcome in the circle. You may have to push him in against his will. We cannot break the circle.” Imogen’s eyes sharpened. “Can you do this for him?”
Mather’s eyes took in her challenge. The growl emerging from his chest was kept at bay, but only barely. His sharp nod was all the confirmation she needed as she moved to proceed.
“Rylen, we are here to help,” Imogen raised her voice. Rylen acknowledged her by tracking her movements with his eyes. “To help save your mate, you need to gain control. Remember, you trust these men with your life. Remember, you’ve trusted me once before.” She didn’t look directly at him—he couldn’t handle a direct challenge at this point, and she understood that. Imogen walked around the outside of the circle as her girls were finishing laying out the necessary tools. This spell was simpler than others. They didn’t need to pour salt on the ground to trace the circle, instead they drew the circle with a stick of chalk blessed by previous enchantments. One of the girls drew a pentagram inside the circle with a different chalk in red. “Rylen, I don’t know if you can understand me, but at the very least, I know your beast can. We mean no harm. You are safe, but we must rid you of the influence of this malignant magic.”
Lucius frowned as he watched the witch leader cautiously. Enock watched, as well, but his expression was one more of relief and faith in the witches’ abilities. If one didn’t know Enock better, he might think Enock wished he could do magic like the witches could. Or perhaps it had more to do with the certain witch who had been in residence and was helping him to understand some of the greater spells so he could teach Alana. Mather wasn’t sure, but he had watched Enock eyeing the little witch, Ambrosia. He honestly didn’t think there was more to it than great respect and interest more in what she could do than her in particular. Still, Mather watched and wondered.
“Everyone in place?” Imogen asked her witches. At their nods, they began joining hands, leaving a space open for Imogen. She then looked to each of the men. “This will work, even if only temporarily. We should have been called in when he first died with dark magic inside him,” she scolded with vehemence. Apparently, they would have done something different. “Once I join the circle, I won’t be able to help get him inside it. That will be up to you. Get. Him. Inside. The. Circle.” Her expression relayed the gravity of her words.
Imogen strode confidently to her place in the circle. She paused right before fully stepping into it. “Work with me, Rylen, please,” she soothed, her last words much softer than any of her others, obvious of her genuine like or at least respect for Rylen. She took her final step into the circle, joining hands with each girl on either side of her. The circle complete, the witches simultaneously began chanting phrases in what sounded like Latin. It began quiet and slow at first, building louder and faster with each repetition of the spell, increasing in intensity and emotion. Reaching the plateau of their spell, Imogen looked briefly to Mather and nodded once—his signal to bring Rylen to the circle.
Mather moved slowly, making his way toward Rylen, his brother, and Enock. He nodded to Luc. Lucius and Enock ensured their grip on Rylen and moved him away from the wall where they had been pinned.
“Time to move, Rylen,” Enock encouraged. Rylen struggled, his muscles straining and shaking at the duration of the intensity of his fight against not only his brothers but himself. Lucius and Enock made slow and painful motion forward toward the circle, one step at a time to ensure Rylen stepped with them. It seemed Rylen was cooperating best he could, moving with them.
“I got your back, boss,” Mather said quietly, knowing Rylen, in an incapacitated state, would be uncomfortable with his back exposed.
Reaching the edge of the circle, they held Rylen on either arm between two of the girls who Imogen had indicated formed the entry to the circle—directly across from her so she could invoke the spell while looking into Rylen’s eyes. At Imogen’s prompt, the two witches released their hands and separated, allowing the entry point for Rylen.
“Step into the circle, Rylen.” Imogen beckoned, her voice calm and quiet but firm. Rylen stiffened his shoulders, digging into the floor with his heels. Lucius’ and Enock’s gazes crossed each other as they had not seen their boss react this way before.
“Time to go, boss,” Enock indicated as he nudged his arms forward.
“Step into the circle, Rylen,” Imogen directed once more with the same calm insightful way she had before. Her eyes searched him from top to bottom, looking deeper than his outward appearance, seeking something no one else could see. What she saw only she knew.
Rylen fought his brothers, pulling his arms away and attempting to step back from the circle. Lucius and Enock struggled to keep their grip on Rylen while at the same time pulling him closer to the white chalk outline of the circle. The witches continued their chant, never once letting up or getting distracted.
Imogen’s eyes found Mather’s behind Rylen’s shoulder. She peered into his and gave an almost imperceptible nod. It was time, whether Rylen was going to cooperate or not.
“Step into the circle, Rylen,” Imogen called again. This time was different. This time, it was a command. Her voice, raised and firm, called him from the depths of his soul. She reached into him with the tone of her command and gripped that part of him that was his magic and pulled with her own. The strain was barely visible on her flawlessly made-up face, just the slightest sheen of perspiration emerged through her pores, likely only visible to the shifters.
At the command of her voice and her words, Mather put his hands on Rylen’s back and whispered to his brothers, “Let him go.” In the same instant, Mather shoved Rylen forcefully enough for him to stumble through the wards of the circle. Watching in what appeared like slow motion, Rylen flew through the circle ward, but he didn’t crash through to the other side. Suspended, caught within the chalk boundary line, he remained still in the air as if frozen. His body halted mid-fall, arms stretched out and one leg lifted off the ground. Had the circumstance been different, it would have looked quite comical. Lucius, Enock, and Mather all stood on the outside of the circle, the ever-present guards and friends as they watched on with concern for their leader.
The air inside the circle whipped around the witches and throughout the circle, cleansing and purifying those a part of the boundary. Nothing else in the Den was affected, the air in the rest of the room completely still. Mather looked on with grim skepticism while Enock watched with fascination. The air moved faster and faster as the witches chant changed in word and rhythm, but not intensity or volume. Rylen’s head moved slightly back with the pressure of whatever the wind and spell were doing to him. His eyes glowed their beastly greenish-yellow. An echoing thunder emerged from the wind, whipping so fast the simultaneous roar erupting from inside Rylen had no choice but to release, his mouth opened with pain.
Mather, Enock, and Lucius moved closer together, shoulder to shoulder behind Rylen. The level of intensity in the room set off their predatory and guardian reactions. For Mather, it was a struggle to keep his wolf calm. Lucius’ eyes also glowed their unnatural gold while Enock’s fangs fully extended and his eyes lit with a predatory gleam. Even though not in the circle, the power from the witches was calling on their own magic deep inside their souls.
Rylen’s body moved forward as if being pulled on an invisible conveyor belt that began to push him through the barrier, stripping him of the foreign magic that had entered his system on the day he died from absorbing the poisonous magic to save the captured magic users. Slowly, painfully, Rylen inched forward. The pain etched in the lines of his face was obvious—his body incapacitated, unable to fight for himself, his beast unable to defend the body controlling it, helpless. The boys knew there would be hell to pay after he got thr
ough with it all, but it would be worth it all to have their leader and friend back in action at full capacity. Too much was at stake right now to deal with this other shit.
Barely visible yellowish vapors seeped from Rylen’s skin and the invisible boundary itself as it left him. Almost through and into the circle, Rylen let out another shout as he was flung into the center of all the witches, barely able to right himself so he wouldn’t fall to his knees and be too vulnerable. Looking a bit worse for wear with his hair ruffled and his clothing wrinkled and askew, everyone could see that something had lifted off him. His shoulders relaxed from how they had been moments before, the frown etched into his head smoothed away, and his breathing mellowed as he began to catch it.
Mather clapped Enock and Luc on their shoulders as an overall burden seemed to lift from the very air.
“It’s not over yet.” Lucius’ words were low and ominous as he continued to stare at Imogen, waiting with an expectation the others weren’t aware of.
Mather eyed his brother then frowned, watching the leader of the witches, not understanding what Luc meant.
Rylen stood stoically before Imogen, a stare down well underway. Not wavering in her absolute authority within the circle, Imogen did not back down. The intensity in the room jacked up again, but this time, it was a tangibly different magic. Mather took note of the various feelings one could have from magic and intentions combined.
“Rylen Duncan, leader of the PAC, offshoot of The Web, I call to the essence within you that belongs to you… your magic. As the leader of the North American Witches within the PAC, I ally with your magic and your leadership to keep you from the attacks of your enemies. This day forward will be free of the entanglements your enemy has hooked within you and around you. It will be finished.” Imogen continued to stare him down, straight through his eyes and into the depths of his convictions to where beast and magic resided. Rylen flinched at her words and the intensity of the chants as they continued to change as if there was a designated signal or script that indicated they should alter the rhythm and words in perfect unity.
At the crescendo of the chant, the doors to the Den flew open and Gracie ran in, her eyes wide and the colors spinning wildly. A guard was hot on her heels. “I tried to stop her, sir,” he whispered, speaking directly to Mather who had asked him to guard the door.
Mather raised his hand to the guard. “It’s fine. We’ll take it from here,” he dismissed the guard.
Lucius had taken a step toward Gracie then thought better of it and remained in his position behind Rylen as Enock moved quickly to stoop before Gracie.
“What is it, love?” Enock urged quietly, attempting not to disturb the ceremony further than they already had.
Panting, Gracie swallowed deeply, regaining her breath and composure. She clenched onto Enock’s offered arm for balance, digging her nails into the skin of his forearm. “I saw her… Alana,” her words rushed and forced as if her voice wasn’t ready for her to speak.
At her words, Rylen’s head whipped toward her with a black steel gaze that she had never seen directed at her before. Gracie flinched even though she knew whatever hatred she saw behind that stare was not truly aimed at her. Lucius moved to stand in front of her, blocking her from Rylen’s gaze while still watching Rylen.
“He’s not quite himself, Gracie,” Enock explained.
Gracie huffed and stood tall. Her eyes had since quit spinning, but now they narrowed and focused on Lucius’ back as if she could see right through him. She released the grip she had on Enock’s arm and patted the spot she gripped so hard, hoping she hadn’t hurt him, and practically snorted at the thought that her little grip could injure the big bad vampire. Gracie pushed her way around Lucius and stopped right in front of the white circle drawn on the ground.
“You listen up, Rylen. Do whatever it is you need to do right now because Alana—your mate—needs you to hurry the heck up. I saw her. I saw her, Rylen, and she needs you. The Alliance has her in a dungeon, but right now they still think she is me, so there’s a little bit of time, but not much. So get out of that damn circle and go find your mate!” Gracie had never raised her voice or shouted like that to anyone before. But now she had reason to, and she needed him to hear her and understand.
The room stilled. The witches’ chant continued, but it had lowered in volume as Gracie’s words carried weight in the room, wafting into the circle and right to Rylen’s ears and heart. He had heard her. His head shifted back to gaze at Imogen. Something in his eyes had changed; the darkness had been pushed back. He faced Imogen and bowed his head, closing his eyes for only a moment before he raised his eyes back to hers. Doing something very few have seen him do, he not only opened his eyes for her to see into their depths, he opened his soul for her to see what she needed to in order to help him break free.
“I see you,” Imogen intoned. She didn’t flinch at what she saw—the depths of the darkness he hid there for no one to find and secrets of his past lives—all the time Imogen took was for her to find the source of the foreign, evil magic. She began to speak words in a language as ancient and obscure as Latin—the language of the original magic users—a language long since dead, even to the new generation of witches. Now, it was a script passed down through the families with ancient magic. These families were like royalty amidst the magic users, and they had no idea there was one in their midst until now. She revealed her family secret in order to save Rylen from his form of personal torture that had plagued him since his confinement in the lower levels of Hell. She must have seen the depths to which his torture ran. He didn’t know how he acquired the black magic within his soul, but he was always aware of its presence and hold it had over him.
The words she spoke called the darkness from his soul, her tone demanded it listen, her authority over her craft commanded it to obey. Rylen’s eyes were swiftly swallowed completely by the darkness, rearing its ugly head. It taunted Imogen by its very presence and pushed back at her using Rylen’s magic against his will to push the witch’s magic back away from him. The leader of the coven held her ground, not backing down for anything; she knew she had a hold on its power, and she knew her magic was stronger. Her confidence in that was all that kept her feet from running from the darkness that tempted her with more power. Imogen’s magic swelled as she spoke her spell and the other witches continued to chant theirs. Rylen’s head flung back as the darkness within him struggled against her power, moving his body from the inside out.
Rylen could feel it battling for a hold on his magic—it was losing, and as it did, his own magic grew in strength. He was able to add his magic to Imogen’s and finish the job. With one final push of his power expelling the darkness, with a simultaneous roar from the depths of his being, and a mighty push from the coven’s chanting, the darkness was thrust from his body causing a whiplash-type reaction.
Rylen fell to his knees in exhaustion, breathing heavily regaining his faculties and testing his magic internally. He sighed with relief at the vacancy he felt from the recesses of his mind. Looking up at his brothers, he smiled and even laughed at the freedom he felt. He stood and shook out his limbs as one of the witches disbanded the circle, and completed the cleansing ritual to ensure the darkness would stay gone.
The aftermath brought a peace to each of them in the Den. Even the coven of witches had not known Imogen’s status, their eyes wide with wonder and mouths gaping in awe. No one spoke. Imogen, only slightly shaken at the exertion of her magic or revealing of her family secret or both, stepped back, and after ensuring Rylen was indeed all right, turned to take her leave and headed for the door.
“Witch,” Rylen hollered after her before she could open it. His voice was worn and scratchy, dry from the ordeal. Imogen stopped in her path, pausing but not turning toward him. “Your secret stays in this room, by my order.” Rylen stared each one of the witches down, knowing he didn’t need to with his inner circle. His word meant law. The witches bowed their heads, understanding and accepti
ng his word. Imogen placed her hand on the door handle. “And Imogen, thank you. I owe you a debt. Do not use it lightly.” Rylen’s sincere thanks held a gravity to them but was accompanied by a small smile that could be heard in his tone. Imogen turned her head slightly then, eyes narrowing to ensure he was serious. Rylen’s favors were not given lightly. She bowed her head with a small smile of her own then disappeared out the door.
The room remained quiet for a moment before the witches gathered all their equipment and huddled together with lost expressions on their faces. Ambrosia studied them with curiosity as she had been talking with Gracie. “What is it, Lenora? What’s wrong?”
“Imogen was our ride, and we don’t know when she will return,” the witch, short and petite with a harsh expression, stated.
“Oh, I can take you if you don’t mind waiting for a bit,” Ambrosia offered. They nodded, and she showed them where they could wait for her. “Enock, I was wondering if I could talk to you about some of the spell books I lent you for Alana when you have a moment?” Her expression was shy and timid as she stood several feet away from the big brute with dreadlocks.
Enock’s eyes widened slightly, but not enough for many to see his sudden shock. His lazy smile grew as he placed his hands in each of his front pockets, adorable like a small boy who didn’t know how to talk to girls—except Enock definitely did, and he used it to his advantage. “Sure Ambrosia, I’d be happy to. Why don’t we talk as I walk you out?” Enock offered her his arm, and she took it, allowing him to lead her out of the Den.
