The Eldritch Conspiracy (Blood Song)

by Adams, Cat

with Bruno, I thought I saw a flash of

  anger cross his face, but it was gone so

  quickly that I might have imagined it,

  replaced by a façade of bland

  professionalism.

  I had to admit he looked good, as he

  had the night of the dinner on Serenity.

  As always, I was drawn to his honey-

  colored eyes, though I noticed that his

  warm, light-brown hair was getting a

  little

  long,

  almost

  breaking

  into

  unmanageable and, in Creede’s opinion,

  unmanly curls. The golden highlights in

  his hair seemed more prominent than

  usual and I realized he’d gotten a little

  tan during his time on the sirens’ island.

  He was wearing a perfectly tailored

  charcoal gray suit, paired with a

  starched white shirt and striped tie.

  “Bruno. Celia.” He didn’t smile and

  his tone was frigid. Still, what had I

  expected? We’d broken up badly and I

  was standing in front of him with the

  man who’d been his chief rival. But it

  hurt just the same. I couldn’t just turn off

  my feelings for him, much as I might

  want to. I forced myself to put a good

  face on it and gave him a pleasant

  greeting, as did Bruno.

  “Princess.” Baker appeared at my

  elbow, saving us all from further

  awkwardness. I had no idea how she’d

  gotten here. I hadn’t seen her on the

  plane. But here she was, and her timing

  was impeccable. She was calling me by

  title because everyone was watching. I

  could sense it. “If you’re ready, I can

  escort you and your guest to your

  rooms.”

  “Our luggage?”

  “Has been taken to your suite.”

  I nodded and took Bruno’s arm while

  Creede watched with narrowed eyes.

  “Cool. Lead the way.”

  She led us through rooms and

  hallways that were, not surprisingly,

  palatial:

  polished

  marble

  floors,

  towering pillars leading up to intricately

  patterned and gilded ceilings. Original

  oil paintings by the great masters hung

  on the walls, recessed alcoves held

  sculptures by Michelangelo, Rodin, and

  others whose work I was too unschooled

  to recognize. The artworks were

  displayed

  beautifully

  and

  looked

  completely unprotected. But looks were

  quite deceiving. I could feel the spells

  guarding the individual pieces from

  yards away, burning so hot against my

  senses that they stole the breath from my

  lungs.

  “Celia, are you okay?” Baker stopped

  in her tracks, her eyes a bit wide.

  “Fine,” I gasped. “Let’s just get away

  from the art gallery, okay?”

  “Right.” She moved forward again,

  picking up the pace. The pain didn’t

  abate until the hallway finally opened up

  into an expansive chamber where a huge,

  curving staircase climbed three stories.

  The room was lit by three crystal

  chandeliers, each bigger than my car.

  Light sparkled from dangling crystal

  teardrops the size of my head, shooting

  rainbows over polished marble floors,

  walls covered in pale blue-green

  watered silk, and the thick Oriental rug

  that covered the center portion of the

  staircase.

  I stopped in my tracks and stared like

  I’d just fallen off a turnip truck. “Oh,

  wow.”

  Baker grinned. “I know. Wait till you

  see your suite. You’re a decorated hero

  now. The king wanted to make sure you

  were ‘comfortable’ and to make sure

  everyone knows how grateful he is for

  everything you’ve done for him and for

  the kingdom.”

  Oh, my.

  We climbed the stairs to the third

  floor, where Baker led us to my suite.

  Some suite—if the three floors of my

  dearly departed office building had been

  laid out on a single level, they still

  would have been smaller than this place.

  The rooms were everything out of my

  wildest childhood Cinderella fantasies,

  including, in one bathroom, a walk-in

  tub that would pass for a swimming pool

  in some neighborhoods and had all sorts

  of whirlpool jets. It was so incredibly

  inviting

  that

  I

  turned

  to

  Bruno

  immediately and said, “Out. Now.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “There’s a bubble bath calling my

  name. Scoot.”

  “I could join you. The tub’s big

  enough.”

  He

  grinned,

  dark

  eyes

  sparkling, flashing the dimples I’ve

  always found so irresistible. But there

  was a shadow of unease beneath the

  seemingly confident expression. I could

  sense it. I didn’t like that unease. I’d had

  enough of it in my own life.

  I made sure he knew I was teasing as I

  pretended to hesitate. “Well … I

  suppose I could use someone to scrub

  my back.”

  He laughed, and for the first time all

  day, the haunted look left his face.

  Later, clean and sated, we slid

  between the sheets of my almost

  criminally comfortable bed, and slept.

  We woke to furious pounding on the

  door and Griffiths bellowing, “Princess

  Celia, you and the mage DeLuca are

  needed in Princess Adriana’s suite at

  once!”

  “Hang on a sec!” I shouted back as I

  climbed out of bed and scrambled

  around looking for something to wear.

  As Bruno slid into yesterday’s jeans, I

  frantically opened drawers and doors

  until I found my underwear, jeans,

  blouses, and jackets.

  We were dressed and out the door in

  a flash, following Griffiths at run down

  the short hall between my suite and the

  royal compartments.

  The corridor was crowded with

  people, most of whom I recognized as

  Secret Service from one country or

  another. Thorsen towered above the rest,

  his

  long

  hair

  loose,

  expression

  thunderous. Even dressed only in

  drawstring pajama bottoms, he was

  imposing as hell. As we neared

  Adriana’s rooms, I noticed that everyone

  left just a bit of distance between

  themselves and Igor, who was standing

  near the door. It was probably

  completely unconscious, but telling. It

  reminded me of how everyone acted

  around Bruno’s Uncle Sal.

  “Princess, Mage DeLuca.” At Igor’s

  gesture

  everyone

&n
bsp; stepped

  aside,

  allowing us to enter the royal chambers.

  Igor led us through a beautiful living

  area crowded with people. Queen

  Lopaka, dressed in an elegant peignoir,

  sat on a couch, her arms around her

  daughter, who was shaking and looking

  like she was about to vomit. King

  Dahlmar

  paced,

  his

  expression

  thunderous. His brother was at his side,

  quietly speaking in rapid Ruslandic,

  presumably in an effort to calm him

  down.

  Igor murmured something to the man

  guarding the bedroom door, who stepped

  aside and gave me my first glimpse of

  what lay on the bed.

  It took a minute for my mind to wrap

  itself around what I was seeing. It was

  just so unexpected and so incredibly

  gross.… I was looking at the severed

  arm of a young woman that appeared to

  have been torn from her body at the

  shoulder. The end had been cauterized,

  and even from where I stood, I could

  smell the overpowering sulfur scent of

  demon. Carved into the arm, around an

  elaborate curse mark that matched those

  of the other Guardians of the Faith we’d

  found, was a message, in English.

  Prepare to die.

  31

  It was Okalani’s arm. Oh, they’d run

  magic and DNA testing to confirm it, but

  I knew. There was this little mole near

  the wrist that I recognized.

  Shit.

  I managed not to throw up, but only

  barely. The poor kid. Someone had

  ripped off her arm and then forced her to

  teleport her own flesh through shields,

  all to send us a message. I wasn’t the

  only one sickened by the thought.

  Since the arm had been part of

  Okalani, it should have been possible to

  use it to track back to her. But I watched

  helplessly as multiple efforts by some of

  the best mages in the world failed.

  Bruno, Creede, and the best mages of

  Rusland and Serenity all tried, with a

  similar lack of results.

  “Is it because she is dead?” Adriana

  asked in a whisper. She looked at

  Thorsen, but it was Creede who

  answered.

  “No. She’s not dead. The binding oath

  mark would have disappeared if she

  were.”

  Adriana swallowed hard, trying not to

  be sick again. I couldn’t say I blamed

  her. My stomach was roiling.

  “My question is, how did they manage

  to teleport this atrocity into the

  princess’s very bedroom? Don’t we

  have shields? Who is responsible for

  security here?” Prince Arkady was

  glaring at Igor.

  “Okalani had learned how to teleport

  through shields. She was … is, the most

  powerful telepath I’ve ever even heard

  of.” My voice was strained. I knew I had

  to hold it together and not think too hard

  about what Okalani was going through. If

  I did, I’d remember my own past, all of

  it, completely unfiltered. I couldn’t let

  that happen. Not here, and not now. It

  would make me useless to Adriana, to

  anyone, probably for days.

  I forced myself to think about the

  words my therapist had said to me again

  and again. The past was over. I had

  survived it. The only way it could harm

  me now was if I let it. I would not do

  that. I needed to think about the present

  and the future. I went over to the door, as

  far away from the arm as I could get and

  still be in the room. Leaning against the

  doorjamb, I took deep, steadying

  breaths. It wasn’t easy, and it wasn’t

  pretty, but I brought myself under

  control.

  “If that is true,” Arkady growled at

  me, “why was no one advised? This

  ‘message’ could have been a bomb

  instead, and have killed us all.”

  “I was advised,” Igor said calmly, “as

  was the king. The palace shields have

  been modulated. Nothing that can do us

  physical harm could make it through. We

  decided that leaving them open for

  something nonlethal might lure our

  enemies into giving us something that

  could be tracked backward. As it has.

  My people will use this”—he gestured

  to the severed limb—“to perform magic

  to find the people behind these attacks.

  We took a calculated risk, and it has

  paid off.”

  “A calculated risk?” Arkady packed a

  lot of outrage into those three small

  words. He turned to his brother. There

  was a long, silent, staring contest

  between the two.

  I was the one who finally broke the

  tense silence that had enveloped the

  room. “Someone told me about a vision

  a paid psychic had.” I didn’t give names,

  but I was fairly sure Queen Lopaka, at

  least, suspected who I was referring to.

  “In the vision I had been captured and

  Okalani was being tortured by a demon.

  The men holding her were going to feed

  me to the demon and livestream the

  whole thing over the Internet.”

  There were lots of loud reactions to

  that.

  “With that in mind”—my voice was a

  little strangled, and probably half an

  octave higher in pitch than usual, but I

  plowed on, talking over the top of

  everyone else—“does anybody have any

  technology or magic that could track me

  through demonic magics?” I looked from

  Igor to Thorsen, then at Bruno and

  Creede. “Just in case they manage to

  capture me?”

  “I can probably come up with

  something.” Creede met my gaze, his

  eyes dark holding more emotions than I

  could count. “How much time do we

  have?”

  “I don’t know.”

  Bruno was speechless; he looked

  shocked and sick. He came up to me and

  pulled me into his arms in a silent

  embrace that was comforting for both of

  us.

  “Get me a mirror or my bowl and I

  can find out.” Adriana pulled away from

  her mother. Her demeanor had changed

  totally—she looked strong, confident in

  her abilities.

  I was glad somebody felt that way. I

  didn’t feel confident at all. I was pretty

  much scared shitless. I needed to know

  more, but I sure didn’t want to. “Bruno,

  why don’t we give Adriana her wedding

  gift now?”

  A lot of quizzical looks greeted that

  comment, so I explained. “Our gift is a

  hand mirror, specially spelled for

  clairvoyant use by Princess Adriana.”

  “I’ll get it,” Bruno answered. He gave

  me a quick squeeze, then let me go and

  raced back to our rooms.
The embrace, I

  knew, was a gesture meant to encourage

  me. It would’ve worked better if I hadn’t

  seen the raw fear in his eyes.

  Adriana and Dahlmar ordered the

  room cleared until only the three of us

  remained. Bruno came back and handed

  Adriana our gift, which was carefully

  wrapped in shiny paper in the colors of

  the royal houses. He would have stayed,

  but John called his name from the door

  and he left, probably to help work on

  Creede’s ideas for tracking me.

  We sat on the couch, Dahlmar and I

  waiting

  impatiently

  as

  Adriana

  unwrapped the package and brought out

  the mirror with a soft gasp of pleasure.

  “Oh, Celia … it’s perfect. The handle

  nearly melts into my hand with warmth.”

  She beamed at me for a moment. “Thank

  you. And thank Mage DeLuca. He must

  have worked so hard on this.”

  Collecting herself, she said soberly,

  “If anything will help me cut through

  their shielding, this should.”

  Taking a deep breath, she started

  muttering the ritual phrases that would

  clear her mind and activate her talent.

  I saw images start to flicker in the

  glass, only to be covered by thick, black

  smoke. Adriana conjured a wind, but the

  glass refused to clear. I watched her

  struggle, bringing all her formidable will

  to bear. The fingers gripping the mirror

  were white knuckled, her face flushed

  and her body shook from the effort.

  Useless effort.

  I had to put an end to it. “Stop. Don’t

  hurt yourself.”

  She looked up and I was shocked to

  see tears pouring down her cheeks. A

  stray drop fell onto the reflective glass.

  The clouds cleared. The scene revealed

  wasn’t the one she’d been seeking.

  Instead, the mirror revealed Adriana

  herself, kneeling beside Dahlmar, both

  in their wedding attire. They faced a

  huge, carved marble cross the exact

  shape of the Eldritch Cross Adriana was

  wearing at her neck, except for a single

  additional stone protrusion at the bottom.

  In the mirror, Adriana pressed her hand

  against the giant cross, and with the

  grinding of stone against stone, a secret

  door appeared in the wall directly in

  front of them.

  In the room, Adriana gave a gasp of

  pain. With a deliberate jerk she broke

  off the vision. I didn’t understand why

  until I caught a glimpse of her hands. The

  skin that had gripped the mirror was

  burned and blistered, a result of a curse

  that had been used to prevent her from

  seeing what she had wanted to see.