“Yes? You know something?”
They exited the dressing room to perch on the edge of the stage, their feet dangling over the side as they sat companionably. Much as he and his brothers had once done.
“Nyx thinks tomorrow night—New Year’s Eve—is when the Morgan will try to fight his wife for control of the Public Garden. It’s when her control over her magic is weakest. Because of the brief gap that exists between the New Year and the old and her having no bridge to faerie while they construct the new one.”
“If you destroy the pentacle before midnight tomorrow night, however, then I believe I can win this war, or at least the first major skirmish, without the Lady Morgana’s help.” Tzadkiel’s smile was wry. “And then she will owe me another favor—one that I do not intend to squander.”
“I’ll do it myself if I can, but you can’t ask me to take Nyx.”
“No.” Tzadkiel laid a hand on Benjamin’s shoulder, beseeching him to understand. “You’ll need Nyx to distract the Morgan, or you’ll never make it past the T station vestibule.”
“Hell’s bells.” Benjamin visibly paled, and Tzadkiel realized the man hadn’t worn his sunglasses around him—in or out of the house—in a while. “Why would I risk my best friend’s life to do that?”
“I am letting you both go, and trusting you to do the right thing, hunter.” It was the only bargaining chip Tzadkiel had left—an appeal to Benjamin’s honor. “Do you think I do not know how much trust I am placing in you?”
“Meaning?” Benjamin demanded.
“Meaning that it would be easier for you to betray me in this.”
The hunter’s brows went up. “I’m not a coward.”
“Perhaps…” Tzadkiel felt the echoes of their previous argument undercut the conversation and chose to ignore them. “You could easily justify your actions should they be contrary to my wishes.”
“Do you ever just get to the point?” Benjamin batted the air with his fist in evident agitation. “Just say what you mean.”
“If I die and my mora is demolished, you live.” There could be no plainer speaking than this. “Your friends live.”
Benjamin flinched, his fingers twitching at his sides in an aborted gesture. Surprise lit his features, casting him as younger than his twenty-eight years.
Tzadkiel peered at him, askance. “You had not thought of this?”
Benjamin turned away and inhaled audibly, brushing a hand over his face before he returned to his original position. “Of course I thought of it. But I know you won’t hurt Nyx. You’re too fucking honorable, and my friends have put their own asses on the line for you.”
What remained unspoken was that the same honor that compelled Tzadkiel now to keep Nyx safe if he were able, still demanded he carry out Benjamin’s execution. Though Tzadkiel’s soul no longer howled for vengeance, his duties as War King mandated he see justice through. Were his brother Lyandros alive, he would not allow Tzadkiel to pardon this man. Not even for love.
“So you see why I say I am placing a great deal of trust in you?” Tzadkiel eyed him, gauging his reaction. Everything hung upon Benjamin’s willingness to do this. There was no one else. “To do the right thing?”
“I don’t care about myself, you jerk. You’re asking me to risk losing Nyx,” Benjamin whispered. “I don’t even know if I’ll ever see Akito again.”
“It is a risk you must weigh.” As a ruler, Tzadkiel was young, but as a man he was older than some portions of history itself. “Conscience will tell you which need is greater—yours or the city’s. Because this isn’t about me or the mora, or even you, as much as it is about protecting Boston from the coven’s greed.”
“What if I don’t want to weigh that fucking risk?” The crack in Benjamin’s voice accompanied his stricken expression. “What if I’m sick of living without the people I…” He yanked his shoulder from under Tzadkiel’s hand. “Never mind. Fine. Fuck it. I’ll see what I can do.”
“Thank you, hunter,” Tzadkiel said.
“Don’t thank me yet,” Benjamin growled, rising to stomp across the stage.
Tzadkiel retreated to the dressing room. As he entered, Nyx shifted and sat up, scrubbing sleep from dark eyes with pale hands. “Where’s Ben?”
Watching the witch, Tzadkiel only nodded toward the stage. “Go to him.”
Nyx looked at him strangely, the wings of brows he now knew should have been blond appearing to take flight under the shag of sleep-mussed hair. “You okay?”
He almost told Nyx of his request to Benjamin, but stopped himself. The hunter’s words ringing in his ears, Tzadkiel realized he too was sick of living without the people he loved.
“I will be…fine,” he lied. “Once this is over.”
Chapter 27
Two hours into his stint at Whiskey Tango, Benjamin’s lips were numb, his tongue was numb, and even his teeth were numb. He’d graduated from Scotch to Long Island iced teas at six p.m. It was now seven, and the only things he hadn’t managed to numb were his emotions and his conscience. Maybe he wasn’t trying hard enough. He raised his hand and signaled Marc for another drink.
“Happy fucking New Year,” he said to the dregs at the bottom of his highball, before he emptied the glass.
Around him the bar patrons laughed and clinked glasses, a prelude to the revelry to come. It seemed First Night Boston was in full swing. The noisy, ubiquitous crowds were going to get hurt if a battle truly did go down on Boston Common. How in the hell the coven would manage to keep this impending cluster fuck out of the papers was going to be a real treat to watch. They’d probably play it off as a major First Night event that got out of hand.
An herbal scent tickled Benjamin’s nose, and he lifted his head. Golden sparks coalesced as Nyx resolved near his chair. Breathless, cheeks still chilled from the subzero temperatures, she gave him a quick hug and plunked down in the wingback chair he’d been saving for her.
“You stink,” she said, wrinkling her nose.
He saluted her with his empty glass. “I love you too, Nyxi Sticks.”
She snorted at the childhood nickname.
For a brief moment it was any other night. They were just two friends out to enjoy themselves after a crappy week at work. Except he didn’t have a job, and this—even for Benjamin—hadn’t been a normal week. Not even close.
He and Nyx had left Tzadkiel’s mora in a theatre-turned-bunker, preparing for a battle none of them knew how to win. He had told Nyx about Tzadkiel’s request to find a way to destroy the pentacle by midnight. Really, it had been a no-brainer once he’d had time to think about it. If the witches won, Nyx was screwed. Benjamin was screwed. Akito…well, he was probably screwed anyway.
Speaking of…“Have you heard from Akito?”
“No.” Nyx shook her head, unwinding her scarf. As she shed her jacket, Marc approached with Benjamin’s drink and took her order. “Black tea. Honey, no milk.”
Worry over Akito beat at what little composure Benjamin had managed to scrape together. No note had arrived proclaiming him a hostage, and though Benjamin and Nyx had discussed trying to find him, there hadn’t been time for them to do that and plan to destroy the pentacle. He’d wanted to go save Akito alone, but Nyx had forbidden it, saying she didn’t need to chase after them both should something go wrong.
“I scouted the area.” She blew out a breath, fluffing her bangs. “There were some weres hanging around—kids I’ve seen before who were kicked out by the Alpha for dealing.”
“If you’re about to tell me that our only hope of breaking that pentacle is a couple of drug dealing, packless weres then I hope you brought lube with you.” Benjamin’s fingers tightened around his glass. “Cuz we’re fucked.”
“Gross, Ben.” She smacked his arm with the back of her hand. “You and I are going to go with them. I’m going to distract my father’s flunkies—who are undoubtedly skulking somewhere around the site. The weres will guard you while you put this to use.”
Nyx held o
ut her hand, and Benjamin took a small, brown paper bag from her.
“The lube?” he asked.
She hit him again, harder this time, and growled, “Be serious.”
Humor. He had to hang on to it, because even with the alcohol’s cloud, he was perilously close to freaking out.
“I’m drunk,” he said, as if it explained everything, which to his mind it did.
He’d planned it this way, and Nyx liked nothing more than a good plan. He frowned. Come to think of it, so did Tzadkiel. At the thought of the vampire, Benjamin’s emotions rattled, a coiled snake ready to strike. He downed the rest of his drink.
A long-suffering sigh issued from between Nyx’s lips. “I’ll fix you before we leave.”
“Oh h-hell, no.” He hiccupped, then belched. “I don’t want to feel my death.”
Or Tzadkiel’s.
“Too bad.” Something dropped into his water glass on the table and fizzed. “Drink. It’s what you do best.”
Benjamin tried to stick out his tongue at her, but ended up drooling on himself. He wiped his chin with the back of his hand and then attempted to down whatever concoction she’d added to his water. It tasted so bitter he nearly spat.
“Seriously?” he gasped.
“Drink.”
Twenty minutes later, the world didn’t feel quite so far away. The music’s backbeat no longer warbled, and voices around him seemed less shrill. Shame, hot and bright, coursed through him. Tzadkiel had been right. He was a coward. In his mind he reviewed Nyx’s plan and then remembered the package in his hands.
Dry paper slid underneath his questing fingertips, its creases and folds forming ridges that crinkled around a somewhat cylindrical object. “What is this?”
She lowered her tea and leaned in. “Death.”
“What?” He fumbled after the package, nearly dropping it.
“It’s an iron railroad spike. You need to drive it into the pentacle to break its bond.” She shrugged. “It is death to the magic in the silver.”
“Cute.” Benjamin pursed his lips. “How do we even know where the silver is under the pavement?”
“The pentacle’s purpose to the coven is twofold. The first is to trap the magic from the ley line and make it unavailable to my mother, the vamps, and the weres while it fortifies the wards around the Common.” Holding up her hand, Nyx counted off. “The second is to make it easier for my father to channel the trapped energy to himself.”
“So your father probably has a focal point that unlocks the magic and channels it to him?” Benjamin guessed. “The monument that Tzadkiel pointed out?”
“Exactly.” Nyx’s aura pulsed. “So, once the coven starts drawing from the magic stored in the silver, it’ll heat up. The magic will make the silver glow like fire to your hunter’s sense.”
“And I’ll be able to locate the pentacle and drive the spike home.”
“Ex-actly.” She emphasized the word this time.
Benjamin felt for the spike, now clearly recognizable through the paper. Could it really be so simple? “Wait. Did you bring a mallet?”
“In my duffel.” She kicked the bag on the floor, vibrating the place near his feet. “We should go soon. Get into position.”
“So early? It’s colder than a—” He felt Nyx’s glare and stopped short of saying witch’s tit. “Sorry. I’m sure yours are warm.”
“I never understood that expression,” she grumbled, standing.
Benjamin stood with her and donned his coat. He wished he had a warmer one, but any clothing he owned had burned down along with his house.
“Nyx,” he said as they made their way from the building.
“Yeah?” She paused, her aura flickering as she looked over her shoulder. “What’s up?”
“Be careful. Don’t let them see the real you.”
“Don’t worry.” She grinned, the expression indistinct without Tzadkiel’s aura to light her face for him. “I’ve been like this for so long that sometimes even I forget it’s not. The real me, that is.”
“I love you.” He folded her into a hug. “Cold boobs and all.”
“Jerk,” she said, joking, then grew serious, and held him tighter. “Don’t worry about Akito. I have a hunch he’s going to be all right.”
Benjamin snorted. It was either that or he’d cry.
“You know, you never give him enough credit.” Nyx pulled away. “He’s extremely resilient and resourceful, even if he is a human.”
Unable to speak around the lump in his throat, Benjamin nodded. They parted and descended the stairs. Benjamin’s cane, its dragon’s head clenched tightly in his left hand, scuttled ahead of him, an extension of his arm. He felt each bump and ridge in the pavement, sounding out the grates and traffic noise. Despite the absence of Tzadkiel’s aura, he knew where he was and that he could fight.
“What time is it?” he asked as they crossed to the Granary Burying Ground and headed left toward Park Street Church and the Common.
“Just before eleven.”
“Time flies…” he muttered, then said, “We should separate.”
“They won’t start until midnight,” Nyx reminded him. “When the fireworks are set off.”
How had he forgotten that crucial bit? “They can’t possibly finish the whole battle in fifteen or twenty minutes?”
“By then they’ll have some pretty strong illusion spells in place. But those will evaporate when you break the pentacle. So we’ll want to scatter quick.”
“Right.” He nodded. “Get my ass out of there. Shouldn’t be a problem.”
They were supposed to meet up afterward at the underground theatre. Benjamin swallowed hard, knowing that he would be all right at least until the vampire got his kylix back. That had been the deal, hadn’t it? No sense worrying about things until they happened. Though he knew that Tzadkiel—stupid, honorable Tzadkiel—wouldn’t hurt someone as loyal as Nyx had been, Benjamin trusted him to use that same fucked up sense of duty to see justice through. Once the vampire got his hands on the kylix, Benjamin knew he was a dead man.
“Stay safe.” Nyx waved and loped off toward the Common ahead of him.
Benjamin let her reach the corner, where she turned and winked out of sight, before he followed. Pausing, he wondered why he wasn’t supposed to break the stupid pentacle before midnight. Somehow he’d forgotten to ask about that detail. If he had to guess, the vampires wanted to flush the Morgan out into the open where they could finish their business with the coven. Unless they fought the man head-on, they would only be doing this again someday.
He popped into the coffee shop across the street to warm his hands, and waited for the church’s quarter-hour chimes to signal eleven forty-five p.m. At their opening warble, his stomach lurched. So much depended on this. He headed into the slap of cold winter air, and walked with purpose toward the T station. As he neared, two flickering gray auras separated themselves from the dark.
“I’ve come to deliver a package,” Benjamin said.
“We’ll make sure it gets there safe.” Gruff didn’t begin to describe the baritone that vibrated along Benjamin’s skin.
He’d encountered weres from time to time in the Common, but they’d pretty much left him alone. This was his first real experience of the creatures. He’d always thought they’d smell like wet dog. Instead, they reminded him of pine forests and the sweet taste of very cold spring water straight from the ground.
They ducked into the vestibule of the T station. Footsteps rushed by as revelers attempted to make it to the fireworks on time. Around the Common periphery, First Night events were ending and more people’s voices filled the streets. Noisemakers were everywhere, their shrill vibrato grating on Benjamin’s already taut nerves. No other auras presented themselves. Flanking him, the weres waited, their quiet presence reassuring.
The Common filled with chants of TEN…NINE…EIGHT…
Benjamin’s stomach went into free fall. He rubbed slick hands against his jeans. Frayed denim
scraped at his roughened palms.
“THREE…TWO…ONE…”
Frigid wind whipped into the vestibule as the Park Street Church bells began to chime.
“HAPPY NEW YEAR!”
Fireworks thundered, shaking the ground beneath Benjamin’s feet. Wait. No. He stumbled outside and realized he could see the pyrotechnics. They weren’t fireworks, but rather magic bursts, being lobbed in the direction of the Public Garden. Crackling nets of light covered the sky. The scent of burned ozone hung in the air. Around Benjamin, foot traffic moved on, unaware of what his hunter’s senses detected.
“Come on,” the were nearest him growled.
Benjamin followed him, breaking into a run.
A bolt of orange-blue energy grazed Benjamin’s shoulder and he stumbled. Easy, too easy. The witches shouldn’t have missed. He was too obvious a target. What his brain told him, his feet ignored, and he kept running. As agreed, at the apex of one point of the pentacle-shaped pathway the were stopped. Benjamin dropped to his knees and tore the mallet from Nyx’s bag. In the distance he saw a flitting golden glow disappearing in and out of sight.
“How’s it looking, fellas?” Benjamin asked, focused on the task at hand.
“Not bad. The vamps are holding their own for the most part,” tall, gruff, and probably hairy said. “A few witches are down.”
“Except it seems like the coven is holding back.” The observation came from the other were. “There’s a whole group of those undead things just watching from one side.”
The pavement under Benjamin’s hands had begun to heat, creating a pool of ice water beneath his knees. Sure enough, as Nyx had said, the silver pentacle glinted, its lines red through the pavement. Except…He shook his head, thinking he saw double. The two lines resolved back into one, and he breathed a sigh of relief.
Positioning the spike over the closest pentacle line, he lifted the hammer, hoped to the gods he didn’t hit his thumb, and struck. The blow reverberated up his arm. He struck again, and again, until the spike was rooted in the pavement. Knowing that was as far as he could drive the spike himself, he stood.
Surrender the Dark Page 23
