Chapter 21 #2
“Damn it, why do we have to default to the worst possible outcome? Why wouldn’t we assume she’s been taken away by The Org and start there?”
I gazed up at him, this beautiful naked man looming over me, strong and frustrated and furious. “I love you, too.”
“We have to stop expressing our love for each other at the shittiest times,” he said, his voice cracking. “What I wouldn’t give for a simple hug and slap on the ass before bed.”
This time I did smile. A tiny bit.
They all fell silent, except for Cecil, who’d taken to stomping in circles and grumbling Gnomish curse words under his breath.
“Hey, bestie.” Ida reached into her pocket and pulled out a handful of dirt. “I brought you something.” She leaned over the circle, careful not to disturb the edges, and dumped it on my head.
It reminded me of another time when Mason had done the same thing. He’d saved my life back then, but that wouldn’t be the case this time. Where I was going, earth magic wouldn’t help.
“Thanks. I love you, too.”
“I’m going to have to agree with Ronan on this one.
We have to stop expressing our love for each other at the worst times.
” Her eyes were wide, and when she turned her head, sunlight glinted off the tears glossing her eyes.
“This is dangerous. You understand that, don’t you? There’s no margin for error.”
My stomach sank even deeper, and it had already been at my knees. “I know.”
“If you know that, you understand why it would be best for me to go instead.” She took a deep breath, stood. “Move over.”
“No,” I said. “That’s not an option.”
“It’s the best one we’ve got. I know how to walk in these worlds, Betty. You don’t.”
“No one knows how to walk in Hell, Ida.” Except maybe my grandfather. And maybe, just maybe, the part of me I’d inherited from him.
Her mouth pinched. She shook with emotion, something that felt like anger but was probably frustration. “I am a necromancer,” she said, in a voice like steel. “Walking in the otherworlds is what my kind was evolutionarily created for.”
I opened my mouth, closing it when she shushed me.
“Some people believe that our power, our DNA, was divinely inserted into the human race for a reason. The oldest stories we have are of necromancers setting aside their own souls to save the lives—and souls—of others. We were created for this moment, a gift to humankind to nurture souls and defend them against the curse of unjust death.”
She was hurt. I’d hurt her.
“You are a gift,” I said. “You’re my best friend.”
One of the tears glossing her eyes broke free and trailed down her cheek. “Then let me do this.”
“Ida’s a necromancer. A damn good one if what happened the night you became Alpha is any indication.
” When I glared at Ronan for siding with her, he said, “I don’t like it any more than you do, but she’s got experience doing this.
Has it occurred to you that she knows something about this you don’t? ”
Yes. I know she’s powerful and experienced. It changes nothing.”
Ida patted Ronan’s shoulder. “I’m seventy years old, and I’ve been a necromancer for every one of those years. Don’t you think I know what I’m doing?”
“First off, you’re eighty, not seventy, Ida Summer.”
“How dare you.” She sniffed, jutted out her chin.
“Secondly,” I said, narrowing my eyes at her fake offense. “As I told Ronan, I know you’re a powerful necromancer. In fact, I’m glad Ronan brought you, because I could use your help with—” I sat up straighter and looked at him. “Wait a sec. Why did you bring Ida?”
“I brought her.” Margaux strode into the room. She lifted the hem of her black robe and stepped into the salt circle, lowering herself and a black canvas doctor bag delicately beside me.
“Bronwyn informed me that Ms. Summer would be useful if The Org sent the necromancer sisters after you again.” Margaux fished a charm necklace out of her bag and dropped it over my head. The pain in my head and ribs instantly lessened. “She was correct, wasn’t she?”
“Of course she was.” My best friend scowled at the witch. “Told you to call me Ida.”
I handed her back the charm. “This won’t work where I’m going.”
Margaux rummaged around in her bag again, this time bringing out a vial of clear liquid. She unscrewed the top, sucked up a dropperful, and instructed me to open my mouth. “Non-drowsy pain tincture. All-natural. Family recipe.”
I reared back. “It better not be that rejuvenation stuff you gave me the night Floyd tried to kill me.”
“It’s not. You’re not hurt enough for Second Wind. Now quit being a wimp and lift your tongue.”
I did, and she squirted the vile stuff into my mouth.
I gagged but managed to swallow it. She handed me a flask of water and indicated I should drink.
“Now, from what I overheard from the hallway, you believe Bronwyn has been cast into Hades. To complicate things further, you have no intention of allowing the necromancer to carry on in your stead.”
Relief spread through me, as the pain ebbed. I screwed the cap on the flask and dropped it into her bag. “No, I intend—”
“No explanation necessary, Coven Mother.” Gods, the woman was pompous. “If you persist in handling this yourself, your coven will support you.”
I glared at her. “Margaux, and I mean this in the most loving way, haul your ass out of this salt circle.”
She didn’t move, just sat there and stared.
“Margaux.”
“If you want me to leave, force me.” The witch stared directly into my eyes. She was treating this like a godsdamned learning experience while Bronwyn’s life hung in the balance.
“Why are you doing this?”
“Force me,” she said through gritted teeth.
“Fine.” Magic from the soil Ida had dumped on my head bled into my eyes, until they glowed so silver they left a shadow silhouette on the wall behind her. “Margaux Ramirez, I command you to leave this circle.”
She flinched as the full impact of my command hit. She responded exactly how Mason and Greer had when I used my alpha voice—automatic, robotic.
She rose and carefully exited the circle, taking care not to break it with the hem of her robe. Her sharply drawn brows beetled toward her nose. It was the most artistic looking frown I’d ever seen.
“You used power on me.”
“Yes.” I was tempted to apologize. I didn’t, because I wasn’t sorry.
“Good. That means our connection is strong.” She smiled. Forcing her to obey my command had left a sick feeling in the pit of my stomach, and she was happy about it.
Damn the woman.
“This isn’t up for debate,” I said to them all. “I’ve made my decision.”
“You’ll need magic to bring her back,” Margaux said softly. “A lot of it.”
“You can do that from outside the circle. I’m going alone. No more distractions.”
“Betty.” Ronan’s voice broke. He kept taking the same two steps forward and back, as if he wanted to leap into the circle but was stopping himself, over and over again.
“I have to.” I willed him to understand, to not fight me on this. “I have no choice. She’s one of mine, and you know what that means.”
“Madame Responsable,” he said, in terrible French.
“Monsieur Responsable.” A reminder that if he were in my place, he’d do the same damn thing.
He let his chin drop to his chest. “Fuck.”
Margaux settled cross-legged outside the circle and rested her hands on her thighs. Ida’s knees snap-crackled as she sat down beside her.
Ronan stood, shifted to as close to a wolf as he could while remaining upright, and watched me with haunted, glowing eyes. He loved me. It was obvious how much, and I treasured it.
What was more, I treasured the way he loved me so much he’d straitjacketed his wolf’s need to protect me because he knew what I was doing was important.
I wanted to wrap my arms around him and swear I’d return, no matter what. But while I would walk through hellfire to get back to him, I couldn't bring myself to make a promise I couldn't guarantee.
“Fennel, are you able to detect the portal entrance?” I asked.
My partner leapt from the bed into the circle. He sat in front of me, head tipped back, mouth open, teeth exposed. Flehmen response activated. Normal cats used this to process pheromones or interesting scents. I had no idea how Fennel was using it.
Did Hell have a scent? I tried to recall one from when my head had been thrust through the portal by Belial, but that had been the most intense case of sensory overload ever, and I couldn’t recall.
I thought about when the Gibson sisters had sent me to the hellscape version of a desert in Ronan’s truck. I couldn’t recall a specific odor, only a strange flatness. Like a can of soda left open too long.
Fennel tipped his head down, closed his mouth. Used his paw to poke at a tiny ripple just below eye level. The best way to describe it was like a Fata Morgana, a mirage, an upside-down distortion of a faraway place bathed in watery light.
It was a portal. A strong one, too. Strong enough to have held even after the deaths of the necromancers who’d opened it.
I stared into Fennel’s luminescent green gaze. “I see it, thank you. Leave the circle now.”
Fennel slammed his tail down.
“She’s already been there too long, my friend. We both know what that place does to living people.” I begged him with my eyes to not fight me on this. He wasn’t Margaux or one of my wolves—I couldn’t command him. “Please leave the circle. Please.”
He did another tail slam then turned his back on me and leapt onto the bed beside Cecil, who was seated on the edge of the boxspring, agitatedly swinging his stubby little feet back and forth.
A stranger might’ve thought he was unaffected, even lackadaisical about what I was doing. But I knew my partner. He was worried.
“Take care of my guys,” I said to Ronan.
“Take care of them yourself when you get back.” Ronan’s eyes glowed like a solar flare. “You come back to me, Betty Lennox. Don’t make me hunt you down.”
I thrust my hand into the shimmer, widened the opening until my body could fit through, and dove into Hell.