Chapter 27
They all stared at him. “That’s impossible,” Thorne snapped.
Zane gestured to the computer screens. “You saw the readouts,” he said. “That thing is a direct link to Vyrkos. Every time it’s activated, it weakens the magic around the tomb.”
“Fuck,” Tyr muttered. “That is not good. Not, not, not, not good.”
Before Zane could move, Thorne was on his feet and over by the table, towering over Blaze. He grabbed the idol, brandishing it in her face.
“Where did you get this? Who were those sorcerers tonight? Why do they want to free Vyrkos?”
Blaze shoved her chair back and rose to her feet, a curtain of power surrounding her. It was thin and wavery, though, and her face went chalk-white with the effort.
Zane’s dragon roared. Mate! He’s hurting our mate! Flame him!
“Get away from her!” Zane grabbed Thorne by the shoulder. Thorne shrugged him off. The idol opened its mouth and roared.
“Shit!” Thorne stared at it.
Zane yelled, “Tyr! Get a spell cage!”
Tyr, with one wide-eyed look over his shoulder, ran to the carved wooden doors and opened one of them. He shut his eyes, concentrating, one hand out in the corridor, summoning the cage from the storeroom.
Black fog belched from the idol, reaching out toward Blaze. She swayed with the effort of keeping a shield up, and then her knees buckled. Zane caught her before she hit the ground, adding his power to her shield.
Thorne wrapped the idol in his huge hands, covering its face, trying to keep the fog in.
A golden cage about a foot square flew down the corridor from the storeroom and smacked into Tyr’s hand. He ran over and Thorne shoved the idol inside, slamming the cage door and pressing a symbol carved into the top.
The cage was immediately encased in blue light, forming a powerful field to contain the idol’s magic. The black fog dissipated. The idol opened its mouth and gave one outraged scream before its golden eyes shut, covering the rubies.
The room fell silent. Everyone stared at the cage.
“What the hell was that?” Tyr asked.
“An angry sorcerer, I think,” Blaze said.
“Say what?”
“I said, I think there’s a dark sorcerer trapped in that idol.”
Thorne turned his gaze on her, narrowing his eyes. “I think it’s time you told us exactly where that idol came from, and how you ended up with it.”
Zane helped Blaze into a chair, keeping his hand possessively on her shoulder. Thorne had no right upsetting his mate. His. “I warned you, Thorne. Leave her alone.”
“It’s important.”
“So important it can’t wait until she gets some rest?”
Thorne glanced towards the computer monitors again. “I’m beginning to think every minute counts.”
Blaze nodded. “It’s okay.” She put her hand briefly on top of Zane’s.
It wasn’t okay. Zane could feel the last of her energy draining away. Zefir, he said in his mind. Please bring a cup of hot tea with sugar for our guest. And some soup, too, he added. Something filling. He felt the usual acknowledgement from somewhere in the house above him.
She might not think she wanted food, but she needed it. And it was his job to make sure she was okay, no matter what she said.
Blaze heaved a great sigh, leaning her elbows on the table. Zane sat in the chair next to her, resisting the urge to scoop her up and hold her on his lap.
We should take care of her, his dragon said disapprovingly. We should hold her and protect her.
She likes taking care of herself, Zane replied.
Hmph. His dragon clearly thought that was ridiculous.
Blaze flicked him a look, as if she could hear his thoughts again. Damn. After a moment, though, she reached over and rested her hand on his leg, under the table. Her body relaxed slightly.
He focused on giving her strength, while listening to her story.
“I was born into the Coven of the Silver Raven,” she said. “It’s an ancient, powerful coven. We—they—began in Ireland, over a thousand years ago if the stories are true. My ancestors left Ireland and came to the New World—to Massachusetts and finally to Oregon.”
She nodded at the idol. “The idol was our most secret treasure. In a way, our coven was formed around it.” Her voice grew soft, and took on the cadence of a storyteller. Zane could imagine her hearing this story while sitting on her mother’s lap, or curled up before a fire with the other children of the coven.
“There was a young man named Finnbar, who was gifted in magic. He left his home in search of learning and traveled for years with a powerful sorcerer from another land. When he’d learned everything the sorcerer had to teach, he went home to Ireland and lived as a hermit, helping others with his magic.
“One day, after many years, the sorcerer came to Finnbar’s home, looking like he’d traveled hard without rest, and suffered a great and terrible grief. And he carried with him two priceless treasures.
“One was a small statue, an idol of solid gold, looking like a man and yet not a man. Finnbar was amazed, because he had never imagined anything so valuable existed outside stories, or maybe a king’s treasure-hoard.
“The sorcerer begged Finnbar to take the idol and hide it, telling him that it contained the spirit of a powerful sorcerer. He told Finnbar to gather all the strongest magic-users he knew, and form a Circle to keep the idol safe. One day, he said, in a time of great danger, the statue would awaken and speak.
“And when it did, a great and beautiful power would awaken with it, and Finnbar’s descendants would save the world from unspeakable evil.”
She gazed at Thorne. “But it was a lie,” she said quietly. “Whatever… spirit… is in this statue isn’t some benevolent force waiting to help our coven save the world. It is the evil.”
“How did you find out?” Zane asked softly.
Her eyes got a faraway look, and he could feel the old, old pain that haunted her.
“One day when I was about twelve, the son of our coven leader heard the statue speak to him.” She turned to Zane. “Silas Turner,” she said. “The one I told you about. He was older than me—eighteen at the time. He was powerful and handsome and a natural leader. Everyone knew he’d take over the coven one day.”
Zane nodded. “Was he the one doing that sick animation spell?” he asked. He turned to the others. “He was projecting his spirit through some poor sucker’s body. Burning it up, probably.”
The others looked slightly ill. “That’s fuckin’ dark,” Tyr muttered.
Blaze nodded. “Back then, though, he wasn’t like that. Kind of arrogant, maybe, but he’d always been kind to me, ever since I was little. He used to play with me, teaching me spells, and I looked up to him…” She broke off and took a deep breath. Zane put his hand over hers and squeezed gently.
“Anyway,” she said, “he told the coven that the idol said the time was coming when we would be needed to fight, and we should begin to prepare. Over the next few years, he and the Inner Circle—including his father and my parents—held special rituals, rituals that he’d been told about by the idol.”
Zane winced, knowing what was probably coming.
“I was too young to be a part of it, but as far as I can piece together they were doing dark spells. First just to gather power, but then to take control over others, to eliminate rivals who Silas claimed could no longer be trusted. Then it was blood magic—first using their own blood, then the blood of enemies, and then shifters and other sorcerers.”
Her voice grew low. “My father changed,” she said. “So did the others. At first so slowly that I didn’t realize what was happening. But they grew more arrogant, harsher, more distant. More afraid of anyone who wasn’t in our circle, and more hostile.”
She bit her lip. “My mother resisted, after a while. But it drained her—made her so ill she wasted away. She died when I was sixteen.”
Zane held her hand, feeling the pain that coursed through her. He knew what it felt like to lose your family. Nothing could fill that hole.
She went on, “Finally, they targeted a group of shifters who lived in a rural community in the hills not far from us. Panthers—not dangerous to anyone as far as I know, except that they had a couple of powerful sorceresses in their clan.
“The coven went after them. Claimed that they were performing dark magicks and trying to eliminate everyone who might find them out.” She looked down at the table. “But it was my coven who had become the dark sorcerers, who’d become paranoid. My people. My family.”
Her voice broke, and Zane could feel her heart breaking along with it. He rubbed the back of her hand gently, knowing that nothing he could do would help.
“I had a friend named Jerome. We were too young to go on the raid, but we were terrified of what was happening. We did a scrying in the fire, watching the raid with our magic.”
She took a deep, shuddering breath. “It was a slaughter. Nearly all the panthers were killed, even those who had no magic, who didn’t fight.” Her voice dropped to a whisper. “Even the children.”
The room had gone silent; everyone was watching her.
“I had just turned sixteen, and at the full moon I was going to be initiated into the coven. I couldn’t let myself be initiated into that. So instead, at the dark of the moon I sneaked into the coven’s ceremonial space and stole the statue. I put the most powerful bindings I knew on it, and then I ran.
“I disappeared into the city, made myself invisible. I magically severed all ties with the coven, and changed my name every few months. When I could afford it, I created a whole new identity for myself.” She reached out her hand toward the spell cage sitting on the table. “I hoped—I hoped that when the statue was gone, its influence over the coven members would be gone too. That somehow, they could reclaim who they were.”
She said sadly, “My father was a good, kind man once. All these years, I hoped he’d find his soul again. That the whole coven would find their souls. But I always knew there was the chance that Silas would come after me instead.”
She gave a bitter smile. “And now you’re trying to tell me that this—” she flicked her finger at the idol— “is some kind of conduit to an evil Draken Lord who’s about to break out of his tomb. So, instead of keeping it in Ireland, far away, we brought it right to him?”
She shook her head. “I’m thinking this is not at all what Finnbar’s sorcerer had in mind.”