by LJ Swallow
Heart racing further, I leap to my feet. "Black? Like demon black? What the fuck?" My buzzing head won't stop, and I pull at my jacket sleeve to look down at the black mark, which now spreads halfway along my arm.
Dex appears and prowls forward. I'm still staring at my arm when he lets out a high-pitched whine. He pads a few metres to the right and pauses before looking back. What's he showing us? I join him and blink into the darkness. Light bounces across the graveyard in the distance, heading our way.
"Go back to Cillian." I say. "Help him. You don't know what might happen next down there."
"I should wait."
Dex's whine becomes a growl and lights flash closer.
"Shit." Morgan tenses, and low voices join the light as the people move closer. The beam sweeps side to side and bounces off closer gravestones. "I bet they're not here to help."
"We have to face them. I can't go back in the crypt and stay upright." I indicate the stairs. "But we should tell Cillian."
Morgan shakes his head. "No. Maybe they won't know he's with us."
He extends a hand towards the top of the stairs, and the space between us and the mausoleum takes on a mirage-like appearance, the mausoleum behind shimmering in and out of view.
A Morgan barrier.
"Cillian will be okay. We can take whoever this is between the three of us."
My heart thumps. I bloody hope so. "Are my eyes still... weird?"
"Yeah. Do you feel any different?"
I drag Morgan into the dark patch beneath the willow tree and hiss for Dex to follow. We kneel down and I curl my hand around the dagger. "I feel like I don't want to die yet."
Morgan chuckles. "Always a good plan."
Dex crouches and his glowing eyes worry me—he's easy to notice in the gloom. My pulse hikes in trepidation. The last demons the four of us encountered weren't a walk in the park. We need to be prepared for something unknown and powerful.
Our time to prepare shortens to seconds as one of the party flash a light into our hiding place. I squint as the beam hits my eyes and my momentary blindness stops me moving as quickly as Dex and Morgan.
A snarl and thud.
Crackling magic and shouting.
I force my eyes open and duck behind the wide trunk. The black affecting my vision has switched to the blinding from torchlight. I cautiously peek from behind. A man, pinned down by Dex's hulking frame, flails his arms. Dex bares his frightening teeth and the saliva drips onto the guy's face. He howls out and rubs his eyes. Dex clamps his teeth around the guy's hand and he drops the dagger to the floor with a cry.
Buoyed by Dex's success, I flick my attention to Morgan.
Then my blood cools.
Morgan's held in place by a force as invisible as his barrier, arms pinned to his side. Unable to cast.
Shit.
I count our numbers. Three guys—demons maybe. Three of us. One turns and steps toward my hiding place. I twist my head for somewhere new. Taller gravestones nearby offer cover, and I duck behind one. I dive my hand into my boot for my dagger, and stand, readying myself to confront the three guys.
Something hits my neck and tightens from behind. I claw at the rope I imagine is there, but touch nothing. My head snaps back as the invisible bond pulls, and I stagger backwards before I choke completely. Hot, heavy breath hits my neck as an arm tightens around my waist. Fingers crush my wrist and I drop the dagger.
I assess the attacker’s height and strength before my automatic reaction kicks in. I slam my head backwards and jab my elbow into his solar plexus. The grip around my waist loosens but the magic grip on my neck remains. My head is yanked back again, like a dog on a lead being pulled back to its master. I trip over a broken grave stone and land hard on my back.
Catching the breath slammed from my lungs, I look upwards. I am on a fucking lead. A white, conjured one that not only strangles me but hurts like hell. The stinging from where the magic touches my skin adds to the pain from my crushing windpipe. A man looks down at me, amusement pulling his mouth into a sardonic smile. He's familiar—the guy from the warehouse. This time, he's dressed in black clothes and gloves. In the moonlight, his face appears paler against his dark hair.
He kneels on the floor and pulls his magic rope tighter.
"You know nothing cures a death mark, right?"
Grappling at the magic bond burns my fingers, but I'm not giving up yet. I kick out, foot colliding with his chest, but the guy remains unmoved. He winds the magic around his slender fingers and draws my face closer. Eyes with blackened pupils stare into mine, an abyss growing as my vision darkens.
I stretch out a hand, patting the patchy grass. Where's my weapon? All I touch are stones and sticks. I can't twist my head to look for it.
"Someone wants to meet you, sweetheart." I choke as the man tugs on the rope and drags me away from the mausoleum. The uneven ground scrapes against my back, through my thin jacket. I attempt to dig my heels in to slow us down, but just leave a long groove in the ground. The more I resist, the tighter the rope pulls around my neck.
The breeze picks up, moving leaves into the air. The wind whips my hair, growing enough to pick up small stones and dirt from the ground. My gasping mouth fills with debris and I choke harder. Fucking great. Grit hits my eyeballs, stinging, and I squeeze them shut. I cover my face with both hands as I'm pelted with debris.
The wind sounds in my ears as if I'm on an exposed hill, drowning out sound. The man's grip suddenly drops and the bond loosens. I choke for breath and attempt to open my eyes, but the dirt and rocks stop me. My body lifts as I'm torn from the ground by the tornado-like strength and I force my eyes open in shock.
One thought hits me as hard as the tree trunk hits my face.
Cillian. Again.
19
My stomach lurches as I'm pulled back from the darkness towards consciousness. I cry out in panic, grasping around me for something to hold on to. My fingers grip a jacket.
The demon guys won. They have me. I flail my arms and my hands connect with a face, my fingers scraping skin and scruff.
"Fuck, Syv, trim your nails." Morgan's face appears as my vision sharpens. Four red lines run down his cheek.
Behind him, streetlights and buildings pass through the car window. I'm lying across Morgan's lap, staring into his concerned face. Instead of touching his injured cheek, he cups his hand around my head.
I wince. "What the fuck happened?" My voice croaks from my crushed, stinging throat.
"I told you we'd take them," says Morgan. The nail marks on his face aren’t his only injury. His face is bruised. Eye and lip swollen.
"Yeah, but they almost took her." Cillian doesn't look around, focused on driving the speeding car as it lurches from side to side through traffic. Dex's head reaches the top of the headrest in the passenger seat beside him. Dex. Not Spot.
"The guy who attacked me. He was from the warehouse," I say.
Morgan nods. "We got him this time though. Cillian turned him to dust."
"The others?"
"Left," says Dex in a gruff voice.
"But did we get the bones from the mausoleum?" I ask. "Cillian?" His silent response sickens my stomach. "Oh. Did the others take them?"
"No. There wasn't much left of them by the time Dex finished," Morgan replies.
Cillian glances over his shoulder. "There were no bones, Syv."
Tears prick my eyes and I fight against them falling. I hurt everywhere— not only my body but my heart. My spirit. "Oh. We keep looking."
I tip to one side as Cillian takes a sharp turn into a side street. I push myself up on my elbows and the narrow street where we stepped through the portal welcomes us.
Morgan doesn’t speak again. In the light of the Institute, his injuries stand out more. He’s a mess. Clothes torn. Wincing as he walks. Did his barrier fail?
"Are you okay?" I ask him. "You don’t look good."
"The demons tried to take me too." He’s hoarse and the flashing anger
in his eyes feels directed at me, not only the guys who attacked us. "And I told you why that was dangerous."
"The runes," I say. "I know."
He tightens his mouth and limps towards the kitchen. Cillian places a hand on my arm. "They took down Morgan’s barrier. He was in danger."
"Shit," I reply.
Cillian’s pale face is marred by cuts too. Only Dex appears unscathed. He watches Morgan leave, but stands away from me. His protectiveness has been replaced by something different. A distance that makes me uneasy.
"I need to see if Morgan is okay."
I make to follow him but Cillian takes my arm. "Leave him. Dex. You check on him."
Dex gives a brisk nod, and I’m left in the hallway with Cillian—the only one of the three who isn’t distant. "This isn’t just the injuries bothering Morgan, is it?"
Cillian takes hold of my hair and my eyes water as he pulls a small stick tangled in. "No. The fact Verin’s men followed us worries me. He knew we’d be there—or is following you."
How? Cillian answers my silent question and takes hold of my arm. He gently runs his fingers across the mark on my dirt-smeared skin. "They’re tracking you. With this."
The gentle voice and closeness do nothing to quell the growing anxiety. "Are they looking for Morgan too? They have his brother—do they need him?"
"I don’t know. But they want Morgan’s magic." Cillian drops his hand. "And they counteracted what he used tonight. Morgan’s not as powerful as he thought, and that’s shaken him."
"That’s not good." I know my words are a huge understatement. Something else is here and unspoken: we were at that location because of me.
Low voices travel from the kitchen. What do I do? Follow Morgan in and talk to him?
"What happens next?" I ask Cillian.
"I think you need to sit down and let me look at you. You passed out. Was that magic or—"
"My head hitting a tree trunk?" I smile weakly. "You need better aim."
"Maybe you have a concussion. Come with me."
Cillian guides me towards the lounge area, spiking my anxiety further. Away from Dex and Morgan. My head aches and skin still sears.
I gingerly sit. "I’m fine. Mostly. But I’m worried about Morgan."
Cillian doesn’t respond and unease crawls across my scalp. I sit with my head in my hands, aching body held by the large armchair I'm propped in. Cillian keeps touching my shoulder to check I’m okay. I need to sleep.
The door closes and I look up. Dex and Morgan. Dex walks to the window and stares out. Morgan slumps into a chair opposite and rubs his temples.
"Why are you looking at me like that?" I ask him.
"Sorry, Syv. I think this is too dangerous," says Morgan looking at his shoes and not me. "I almost died tonight."
"Searching for items powerful demons want is dangerous," I reply. "You must know that."
"Helping you is more dangerous. We’re running in circles trying to find a cure for something we’re not even sure we can. All the while, we’re wasting time."
"Morgan..." warns Cillian. "We need Syv’s help—and she needs ours."
"Do we? Okay, so she’s the best at locating magic items, but she isn’t the only one who can."
"Donovan wanted us to work with her."
My ears prick up. "Really? Why?"
"Because you’re the best," says Cillian and nods at me.
"But not if she’s dead. And, in the meantime, Verin has the box and could destroy my brother. Or worse." Morgan’s cheeks heat and his words become increasingly breathless.
His injuries are more than the nails down his face, he’s holding his arm and when he sat earlier he winced. Morgan’s face is bruised and Dex limps. They’re right. Doing this threatens them.
Wasting time that could save Morgan’s brother’s life. And who’s more important? Me or his brother?
My throat thickens. "Do you want me to leave?"
"You said your Horsemen could help. Or the Collector. You don’t need us. This was a bad idea." Morgan’s made his mind up. What about the others?
"Dex?" I ask.
He looks away from the window. "I have seen how people follow you. The danger that shadows. I’m torn. These are my people." He gestures at his two friends.
And I began to feel they were my people. Why? So suddenly? "Is this because I won’t sign your contract?"
"To be fair, Syv, that does mean you’re holding back from us. I want to help you — we all do —but this is complicated."
"We don’t really know who you are," says Morgan.
"You know as much about me as I do."
"Do we?" asks Morgan. "What’s your real relationship with the Horsemen? This whole fangirl thing you have going on. Maybe they know about the box—my brother—and want to interfere."
"Morgan. We discussed this, you know that's a stupid notion," says Cillian in a calm tone.
"You heard what Ewan said at the bar, Cillian," puts in Morgan. "They want rid of us."
I laugh, which turns into a cough. "Believe me, if the Horsemen wanted you dead they'd do that themselves. Xander would make an example of you. The guys who attacked us were demons. I don't know who they were connected to, but—"
"Xander wanted me dead before," says Dex.
"You saved his life." I stand and step towards him. "He knows you're not dangerous."
"They want Dwellers dead."
I inhale and let out a calming breath. "They don't want me dead."
"She's right," says Cillian. "I think you're overreacting. Both of you." He nods at Morgan.
"But Dex agrees," he says. "You have to half-agree that Syv is trouble."
"More trouble than I’m worth?" I snap, hackles rising. But this hurts. Really fucking hurts. "Fine, I’ll leave and solve this on my own."
"I think we should sleep on this," says Cillian and touches Morgan’s arm. "We’re struggling with what happened tonight. How vulnerable we were."
"And the other day when Dex shifted," puts in Morgan. "Random shifting and Dex out of control threatens us."
I suck on my teeth. "Well turn back time, Morgan. Go back to when you found me in the warehouse. Instead of saving my life, arrive earlier and take the bloody box."
"If I could, I would," he says. "I can’t alter time unless it’s important."
"I thought your box was important?" I snap back.
"No, important like someone dying. And I’m not a time traveller. I can only manipulate within minutes of an event."
"That’s a bit useless," I say snarkily.
"Yes. There are a fuck load of things I would’ve changed."
"But not me?"
Morgan drags a hand into his hair. "Syv. This isn’t personal, but I’m scared for my brother. And myself. I don’t know what might happen to him—or even be happening to him right now."
"Well, so much for me being the answer to your fucking problems!" I retort. "And your answer to mine. This is bullshit. You drag me here trying to 'recruit' me, and now you accuse me of being too much trouble." I rub a hand across my sore head and stand, unsteadily. "I'll happily leave. Let me pack my stuff."
"Syv..." Cillian throws pissed-off glances at the other two guys. "Let’s calm the situation."
"How? Look, I understand what Morgan means. I get that I’m a liability." I need out of here. I shouldn’t feel hurt. Betrayed. This happens every time I try to work with people. Don’t I learn?
Morgan stares down at his shoes, one hand dug into his hair. Dex looks directly at me. His need to protect me he talked about is obviously overtaken by his loyalty to these men.
I stalk towards the door.
Yeah, I can see why people don't trust these arseholes.
20
The demon's words rattle around my head as I wash the day from my aching body. Did I imagine his words in my half-strangled state? Scrubbing at the mark does nothing, of course. Like much in my life, the act is futile. Such as starting to trust three guys who'd promised to help me.
The bruises on my body spread in ugly purples to match the yellowing ones from two days ago. I'm permanently covered in cuts and bruises, but my face shocks me. I don't usually look like I've gone three rounds with a Leviathan. Add in my swollen eye and bruised mouth, and I'm a delight.
Before I step in the shower, I peer at my eyes in the mirror, terrified they may still be black the way Morgan said. Nothing. Dark rimmed by tiredness with a cut at one corner, but the same colour as usual.
How I look is the least of my problems right now. I gave up my home to stay here. If I head back to La Fee Verte and beg for my old room, my abusive ex lurks in my life. And I doubt Sim would agree.
The Horsemen? If I’m really stuck, I guess Vee will make them take me in.
The Collector? Maybe this is the opportunity to reforge our bond. The one person I can trust.
The guys are right. I’m a liability. The demon guy who attacked me, for the second time, told me someone was looking for me. I’m in danger and anybody associated with me is too.
Shower over, and with a white towel firmly tied around myself, I search through my dirty jeans for my phone. I dial and the phone rings out. Col doesn't use voicemail, and half the time never uses his phone either. I chastise him regularly for not catching up with the twenty-first century, and he always smiles and shrugs. I know the real reason—he prefers to keep his ‘untouchable’ image.
I drop the phone on the bed, pull on my underwear and rummage through my bag for clean clothes. I don't have an extensive or varied wardrobe, mostly jeans or leather pants and T-shirts in various states of disrepair. I curse under my breath when I can't find any shirts without holes in. I'll need to go back to my old digs at the fae place, even if I can’t stay there. I moved too quickly, and left things behind.
The door creaks as somebody pushes at where it fits badly in the frame. I spin around. Cillian.
"Some privacy?" I snap.
"Sorry. I was worried you'd leave before I had a chance to talk to you." He stands awkwardly in the doorway.
I gesture at the window. "We're three floors up. Expecting me to jump from the window?"
