Chapter 42
Rebel was still awake when her phone rang at 2 a.m.
She hadn’t been sleeping much for the last few days, not since she’d failed once more to deliver the idol to Jack’s boss, and dragons had subsequently invaded her backyard.
They were still harassing her—calling her on the phone, asking personal questions about tattoos, trying to talk her into moving into their lair, for fuck’s sake.
McKenna had some idea that Rebel was resisting doing that because she was deluding herself that she was safe here, just because the dark wizard hadn’t come after her yet.
In reality, Rebel didn’t believe she and Tempest were safe anywhere, including the dragons’ lair. The only way they’d be safe was if the dark wizard—Turner—got the idol, or the dragons killed him.
At the moment, Rebel was okay with either of those possibilities. And if he came after her, she was perfectly fine with telling him exactly who had the idol, and letting him and the dragons fight it out between them.
So she stayed up at night, magical Colt at the ready, spare magical ammunition in the pocket of her cargo pants. Waiting for Jack to come through her door, spewing dark wizard holograms from the hole in his chest, so she could rat out the dragons.
Even though it made her feel guilty, an emotion she’d thought she eliminated from her repertoire years ago. She couldn’t stop thinking about the hot crazy dragon guy she’d had to kiss, which pissed her off—both because of the kiss, and the fact that he wouldn’t get out of her head.
And then there was the irrational worry that he might get hurt because of something she did. As if he couldn’t fucking take care of himself.
It might be time for her and Tempest to leave Portland for good—start again somewhere else. Except, there was Tempest’s prediction.
Something bad would happen if they didn’t help the dragons with their mission.
But something bad always happened. Sometimes the only thing to do was to get out before it did.
Her cell buzzed, dancing across the water rings on her cheap scarred end table. She glanced at it, her adrenalin spiking. It was an unknown number—could be anything from some idiot drunk-dialing to a new client to the damn dark wizard.
Wariness prickled down her spine as she picked it up and hit the button.
“Yeah.” Her voice was low and husky—rough with lack of sleep and too much whiskey to calm her nerves.
“Rebel? It’s me, Jack. You have to… help me.” The voice was low and slurred, but she recognized it at once.
That didn’t mean it wasn’t a trap.
“Where are you?”
“Warehouse. Near… the river.” He told her where. Northeast, in the industrial district. “Wizard… left me… for dead. Found… old… land line. Still works.”
She hesitated, hearing nothing but his harsh breathing and the buzz on the line. What the hell was she supposed to say to that? He’d gotten himself into this mess—and he’d gotten her into it too. And now she was supposed to come running to rescue him from a supposedly abandoned warehouse like a fucking idiot in a low-budget horror movie?
“Reb? Please… don’t leave me… only one who’ll come…”
Fuck. “If you lead me into a trap, Harper, I swear to God I’ll kill you myself.”
He didn’t answer. The line went dead.
Rebel threw the phone on the couch, cursing under her breath. Jack wasn’t worth much these days, but she’d cared about him once. She couldn’t let him die alone in a fucking warehouse.
But she wasn’t going to leave Tempest here unguarded or walk into a trap, either.
It was time to finish this. If the call was a trap, it meant they were going to try to use her to get to the dragons and the idol.
She might as well cut out the middle man, and save herself some torture.
She leaned over, grabbed the phone, and scrolled through her contacts. There it was, under the F’s. ‘Fucking Dragons.’
She tapped the number, and then hit ‘Call.’ If she was heading into a trap, the witch and the fucking dragons were coming with her.
The warehouse was exactly where Jack Harper said it was. Blaze, Thorne and Zane had picked up Rebel and flown straight there, landing in the deserted parking lot. Tyr had taken Tempest back to the lair for safety, over Rebel’s protests.
Blaze noticed that Tempest had seemed fine with it, dressing calmly and gathering up her notebook and sketch pad while Thorne and Rebel were arguing.
Once at the warehouse, they’d checked the perimeter and seen no signs of a trap. Blaze and the dragons could feel faint traces of Silas’s spell signature on the outside of the building, as if it had once been warded, and the wards erased later.
As if the coven wasn’t using the place anymore, and had just left their refuse behind.
Including a dying man, who Silas had used and thrown away like garbage.
Inside it was echoing and empty, nothing there but the remnants of a spell circle. Bits of herbs could still be seen on the floor, as if they’d been hastily swept up, and a ghostly tingle of magic remained.
There was a small pool of blood in the middle of the circle, and a smeared trail to the side of the warehouse that led up a set of iron stairs, as if someone had dragged themselves up.
They found Jack lying in a dusty second-floor room that had once been an office, with a dirty window that looked down on the warehouse floor. It was littered with broken furniture, empty boxes, and debris that had hidden an old landline desk phone, still plugged in.
But it wasn’t the blood loss that had nearly killed him. Harper’s body was emaciated, with spaces in his torso that looked like they were just… gone. Blank and black, as if they’d been removed and replaced by pieces of the blackest, most starless night.
The closer Blaze got to those missing pieces, the more she wanted to vomit. It was a visceral reaction, as if her magic—or the Seal’s—couldn’t get too close without reacting.
Thorne didn’t seem to feel it, although she could see the curl of distaste on his lips. He’d brought a healing potion that worked on both magical and physical damage, which he poured down the half-conscious Jack’s throat. Then they wrapped him in a stiff cocoon like the ones rescue workers used to airlift lost hikers off mountains—except this one had magical wards woven into it.
They carried him up to the roof, and Thorne and Zane transported the three of them back to the Batcave.
Thorne carried Jack into a small room that looked like some kind of disused infirmary—probably for injured Guardians. He laid him on a waiting gurney in the middle of the room, which looked modern and out of place next to the old-fashioned cabinets holding thick glass jars of herbs, candles, and healing stones.
“What have we got?” asked Tyr, hurrying into the room. He was followed by Tempest, who immediately went over to Rebel, linking her arm through her sister’s.
“A fucking mess,” Thorne said bluntly. “Looks like Turner’s magic bonded to him, and it’s eating him away.”
They were stripping the cocoon off Jack, and the residual magic permeating him spread out into the room like a bad smell.
Blaze stood back against the wall with Zane, leaning on him for support. She was still feeling sick. Silas’s magic was all over Jack, as if it were woven through him somehow. She could never mistake it; they’d spent years working together as children, trying new spells and practicing fending them off.
The power felt familiar, yet twisted. The familiarity hit her in the gut, raising so many emotions she’d thought she’d left behind. And the twisted darkness made her feel like she’d returned home to a place she’d loved, only to see it blackened and ruined by a devastating fire.
“Can you get it out of him?” That was Tempest. Rebel was just standing there, mouth pressed together in a tight line.
“Maybe,” Tyr said, his voice growing gentle as he looked at her. “There’s a good chance it won’t help, though. He’s pretty far gone.”
“Can we cut the connection?” Blaze asked. “Sort of like cutting Silas off from the idol, except cutting Jack off from Silas.”
“We’d still need Silas for that,” Thorne said impatiently.
“Unless…” Tyr spoke quickly, then trailed off. The dragons all looked at each other, clearly talking in their minds, though Blaze couldn’t hear any of them, even Zane.
Blaze elbowed Zane. “Hello? Other people in the room, here. We’re all in this together. Whatever you have to say, stop mind-talking and say it out loud.”
“Sorry,” Zane said. Thorne didn’t look sorry, but he shrugged in acknowledgement.
“I thought of something, but it’s a risk,” Tyr said. “A big one. Jack isn’t just connected to Silas—he’s connected to the idol through Silas’s magic. Since we have Jack and the idol, it’s possible we could use Jack’s connection with Silas to sever both Jack and Silas from the idol, and from each other.” He looked at Rebel. “But he’s pretty weak. It could kill him.”
“He’s going to die anyway, if we don’t do anything,” Rebel pointed out. “And he asked me to help him. He said I was the only one he could call. That means he’s trusting me to make the decision.”
“We’re going to need Blaze,” Tyr said, looking at Zane. “That idol’s a direct conduit to Corwyn and Vyrkos. Not only do we need her magic, but we may need the power of the Seal to help sever the link.”
Zane opened his mouth, and Blaze elbowed him again. “I’m standing right here,” she said, waving her hand to get Tyr’s attention. “It’s me you have to talk to.”
“Says the woman who isn’t going to get flamed by Zane if anything happens to her. Unlike the rest of us.”
Blaze turned to Zane, putting her hand on his cheek. “You know we have to do this,” she said. “We’ve had no leads on Silas. If we can cut him off from the idol this way, we have to try. It could buy us the time we need to find the rest of the Seals and figure out how to get them back in the tomb.”
“Then Rebel and I should be there too,” Tempest said.
“Now, wait a minute,” Rebel began. “I’m not going to let you—”
“Did you hear what she said to Zane?” Tempest said. “Ditto that. I know you want to keep me safe—”
“She’s not the only one,” Tyr murmured.
“—but I’m responsible for making my own decisions. Doing this spell could save Jack, and it could weaken Vyrkos’ power. We need to give it everything we’ve got. Even if we don’t have the Seals yet, the Keepers must have some power.” She turned to Tyr. “I’m helping.”
Rebel sighed. “Fine, then. If you’re doing it, I’m going with you. I’m sure as hell not letting you do it alone.”
They all looked at Thorne. Blaze knew he was worried that agitating the idol to that extent would just make things worse, but as Tyr had argued earlier that night, they were getting to the point where doing nothing was a greater risk. With the possibility of saving a life hanging in the balance, they didn’t really have much of a choice.
Finally, Thorne gave a short nod. “We’ll set it up. And then we’ll hope that the whole damn thing doesn’t backfire on us, and wake the dragon.”