49 Dáinn
DáINN
I fade through the void, appearing in a pool of shadows before my mistress.
I quickly orient myself within the library of Raven Watch.
My anxiety settles somewhat. Ludmilla never uses the library for torture or interrogation.
She means to have me report something to her .
. . or she wants to give me a new assignment.
The library has always been my favorite room of the manor.
I’m almost never here in daylight. One wall is all windows, allowing for excellent morning light with incomparable views of Fleet Cove.
The other three walls are wrapped in floor-to-ceiling bookshelves.
The library continues up to a second-floor balcony, accessible by a spiral staircase tucked away in the corner.
I float there in the middle of the room, my skeletal fingers brushing over the surface of an antique globe. It’s an original J&W Cary design. During the late eighteenth century, the Cary family was one of the most renowned cartographers and globe makers in London.
I’m the reason Ludmilla has this particular globe.
Once we were bonded, she gave me the name of John’s son to devour and took it from his private collection as a souvenir.
If Ludmilla wants a thing, nothing stands in her way.
I still remember the taste of him—wine-soaked figs and aged parchment.
His was one of the first souls I claimed while under Ludmilla’s thrall.
With a flick of my bony finger, I send the globe slowly spinning. “You called for me?”
Ludmilla sits on the sofa before the windows, flanked to either side by members of her coven.
Dimitri Galanis is a powerful witch with deep ties to the demonic underworld.
He’s a violent brute, boorish and ill-tempered.
Built like a giant, his arms are snaked with ink, marked with demonic runes.
Mindy Case sits to her other side. Half witch, half harpy, she’s loyal to Ludmilla to a fault.
She’s a tiny thing, a petite brunette with pale skin, violet eyes, and a hawkish nose.
Behind the couch, two more coven members stand.
The first is Nikolaj Halston, a savvy and smart gargoyle.
It’s rare for gargoyles to abandon their clans.
I suppose for Nikolaj, the draw of the money under Ludmilla was too good.
He’s usually too smart to get pulled into a fight, but when he does, he always wins.
His creature nature means he’s nigh on indestructible.
The last coven member in attendance is Enzo Barsotti.
He’s been with Ludmilla the shortest amount of time, compared with the other three.
He’s a hotheaded fire witch with excellent connections to the human crime world.
More than once over the last few years, I’ve been forced to work with the witch during a haunt or hunt. The infernal wretch never shuts up.
“Come forward, wraith,” Ludmilla says with a curl of her finger. “I have a mission for you.”
If I had a heart, it would be racing. I can’t bear to be sent away on a new mission far from Jasper and Birdie. If it’s a haunt, I could be occupied for weeks. Months, even. Will I be able to defy her orders once more and return to them? Am I about to lose everything I’ve gained?
I drift forward a few inches, head bowed within the depths of my dark cowl. “I am yours to command.”
She sits at the heart of her coven like a wolf in her den. “I want you to return to Burr Island.”
I go still, not quite believing my luck. “What would you have me do there?”
“I want you to haunt the coven,” she replies. “We need to know how they’re recovering from their little disappointment earlier this week.”
The harpy-witch, Mindy, glances sharply her way, her violet eyes narrowed. “What happened?”
Ludmilla smiles at the little witch. “Did you not hear? Their high priest died suddenly in the night. Cardiac arrest, was it not, wraith?”
I incline my cowled head. “It was, mistress.”
Mindy laughs. “Oh, Mil, you’re so bad. Why bother with those silly island witches?”
Reaching out, Ludmilla tucks a strand of Mindy’s hair behind her ear.
“Because they have something I want . . . something I thought lost to me forever.” She turns to me, her smile falling.
Why spare a smile for me? Do you smile at a shovel before you dig a hole?
“I need to know who they choose to succeed the Prescott witch as head of the coven.”
Oh, no. This is bad.
“Yes, mistress,” I say with another nod.
“I want them all watched,” she goes on. “Track their movements as best you can. And keep a particularly close eye on that young historian.”
My creature self yearns to sweep across this carpet, dig my fingers into Ludmilla’s chest, and tear her the fuck apart. Thank the gods some rational part of me prevails. I hold back, waiting.
There are two historians on Burr Island. I must be sure . . .
“Name the historian,” I intone. “I’ll see them watched most carefully.”
She huffs, clearly irritated, her aura shifting from softer greys to dark mossy greens and cold, black charcoal. “You know of whom I speak, wraith. Ezra Howe. I want him watched like a hawk. Any hint of treachery shall be reported to me immediately.”
“Treachery?” I repeat.
Now she’s sitting forward, her eyes glinting with malice.
“One of Jasper Prescott’s last acts on this earth was to try and steal my digger away from me.
The high priest threatened Howe. It rattled the poor man.
Made him start asking questions that I can’t have him asking.
Not if I want to continue to operate in the shadows, well out of reach of the island’s tricky little wards. ”
I incline my head, desperate to hide any hint of relief that might show through the shadows of my cowl. We’re on the right path. She definitely wants something buried up at Homewood. She needs Howe to get it. This can all be unraveled. We can stop her. I can be free.
“I don’t know why you don’t just kill them all,” Barsotti mutters, arms crossed over his chest. “Send the wraith with all their names and be done with it.”
Maybe I can’t kill Ludmilla, but I can kill him. I’ll use my bare hands. I don’t want to taste any part of his puce-colored soul. My body coils tight as I prepare to attack. I’ll deal with the consequences as they come.
But then Ludmilla purses her lips, clearly annoyed at being questioned by one of her captains. Mindy dares to shoot the surly witch a scathing look over her shoulder. Sighing, Ludmilla glances to the harpy-witch. “Tell Enzo why we can’t just kill them all, my sweet.”
I hold very still, desperate to hear the answer too.
Mindy sits up straight, her sharp eyes locked on the witch standing behind the sofa. “Because Burr Island’s wards weren’t set with elemental magic. Those nasty old witches used blood magic.”
“We can’t think of them as wards,” Ludmilla adds.
“They’re more like a curse, woven into the blood of every Burr Island witch, sustained and strengthened with their every breath.
But blood curses are tricky little things.
I should know,” she adds confidently. “Killing them all won’t end the curse, it will just sever my last hope of the witches dropping the curse for themselves.
So long as one Burr Island witch remains alive, so too does my hope of finally getting what I want. ”
A blood curse! Why have I never made that connection before? It seems so obvious now. The harpy-witch is correct, of course. Most witches wield magic that is tied to their element. Upon their death, even the workings of the most powerful spellcasting witch will fade into dust.
But a curse? Those are clever. A powerfully cast curse can be made to outwit and outlast. In all my years, I’ve never seen anything so effective as the Burr Island wards. Nigh on impenetrable to all but a few magical beings, myself included.
On her other side, Dimitri Galanis glances her way. “Is that your goal then? You intend to force the witches to lift the curse off their island?”
Ludmilla shrugs. “I’ve certainly considered it.
They’ve proved rather intractable up until now.
And I thought there was no point anyway.
Howe brought me compelling evidence that perhaps I was wrong.
I’ve waited this long to crack open the island’s slippery little secrets.
I can wait a little longer. My new friend Howe is ever so earnest. So doggedly determined.
And my wraith has proved himself indispensable at conducting an intrigue. ”
That’s the closest she’s ever come to complimenting me in nearly two hundred years. Gods, but I hate her.
She turns to me, her gaze once more imperious. “Go now, wraith. Watch and listen. Bring me the name of their next coven leader. And if any of those witches so much as look in the direction of Homewood, you are to tell me immediately. Understood?”
I nod. “Yes, mistress.”
“Good.” She waves her hand in dismissal. “Be gone from my sight.”
I don’t wait another second before letting my shadows take me, launching myself into the safety of the void.
My mind spins as I tumble through the dark unending.
This is both the best and the worst possible outcome.
It’s the best outcome because Ludmilla has given me the freedom to leave my cage with her blessing and haunt my witch and my human.
I can go to them. I can be with them. I can tell them all I’ve just learned.
But it’s also the worst. Ludmilla will expect regular reports.
And results. She’ll want the name of the coven’s new leader.
Once I give it, that will be the witch she targets next.
I can’t imagine a scenario where Ludmilla doesn’t make me devour them.
How will Jasper ever choose a name, knowing he’s all but signing that witch’s death warrant?