64. Chapter 63
The car pulled up to the lonely mansion nestled deep in the forest after six hours of driving.
With a heavy sigh, Silas slid the cracked mask over his face, and a chill ran through him as the ceramic pressed against his skin.
A moment passed, and the door of the black sedan opened to reveal someone dressed in all black, including a black mask. A servant of the house of The Risen.
They bowed their head slightly, extending their arm toward the daunting steps of the house.
He’d only been here a few times. Once, two years ago, after his father was taken into custody.
Last year, when he was told that the blonde—Briar—was one piece to opening the gate.
And the last, when he was told about Ivy.
He clenched his jaw as he got out of the car, adjusting his shirt as he stood in attempt to ignore the pulsing in his throat, like his subconscious was dying to scream. Ivy was alive. So was Ezra, partially thanks to him extending his own magic.
Though he wasn’t sure he’d call it living.
He visited them both every night while they lay unconscious, hoping they would wake up.
It was selfish of him to wish, because only horrors awaited them if the leaders of The Risen knew.
He couldn’t find any traces of Abbott’s body after she was killed when Ivy’s brother stepped out of the Nether.
Was she truly dead? Or did she crawl back to the leaders to report what happened?
It was better if the leaders didn’t know.
After all, Silas’s magic couldn’t hurt Ivy or Ezra.
They were the only things he couldn’t hurt.
He didn’t understand why. Not yet anyway.
But it was one thing he could find solace in.
A peacefulness knowing he couldn’t harm either of them.
Ezra, whom he had loved for years, and Ivy, who had captured his attention since the moment she stepped foot onto Arcania’s grounds.
“You don’t deserve peace,” an evil voice whispered in his mind. “If the Risen discover your weakness, they will eliminate it to ensure their success.”
He cleared his throat, brushing a hand over his hair as if he could push the voice away.
The voice that did not belong to him. Or, at least, he didn’t think belonged to him.
The line was blurring with each passing day.
The door behind him closed, and he followed the servant up the wide stone steps.
Unnatural red flames licked at the burning braziers lit on the pillars on either side of the stairs, and again with the ones next to the blood-red wooden doors which stood nearly twice his height.
They groaned as they swung open by two servants on the other side.
As he stepped inside, the air around him thickened.
A powerful magic radiated through the space.
He noticed the servant’s chest rising heavier, as if they were suffocating beneath its weight.
But to Silas, it seeped into his body, and breathing came easier.
It was similar to the night the gate was opened.
The magic here drew from the Nether’s corruption.
Just as he drew from it somehow.
Silas continued following the servant through the dimly lit halls until they reached a red-painted door.
With a patterned knock, a commanding voice came from within, bidding them to enter.
The servant opened the door, standing aside to allow Silas to enter, before shutting it again with a soft click.
The room was a grand office. Large, shining black bookcases lining one entire wall, four plush red chairs circled around a black coffee table, a giant desk, but the focal point of the room was the enormous stone fireplace blazing with red flames.
An ancient script was carved into the mantle, while intimidating gargoyles stood at the legs.
Above it was a beautiful stained glass of black and red, depicting an open gate to the Nether.
A man, wearing an exquisite black suit and a horned red mask, stepped out from an archway next to the fireplace, two crystal glasses with amber liquid in his hands. “Come, Silas.”
There was no sense in upholding decorum then. In larger crowds, everyone was anonymous. Even with his standing within The Risen and directing the Illusionists, he wasn’t sure of who every member was. But he knew who the man in this mask was.
Haverick Thaler.
Ezra’s father was one of the leaders. Ezra likely didn’t know that, though, given their relationship was worse than ever. What Silas saw in Ezra’s mind the night of the party—the last time they kissed—was enough to put the pieces together of why.
His jaw clenched as he stepped forward, following the command almost unwillingly as he joined Haverick by the fireplace. He took the drink and left it untouched as Haverick swished his around.
“You’ve done well this year,” he said after a moment of silence stretched between them. “As I’m sure you could tell. Your magic is stronger?”
“Yes, sir,” Silas answered. With the gate opened, his control over the shadows was greater. His power continued to grow, shaped by the will and desire of the Nether. He clutched the glass tight.
“Not enough,” the voice seethed.
No, it wasn’t enough. There were still recesses in his mind that belonged to him. To his own desires that begged to see the light of day.
“There is more work to be done,” Haverick stated, turning to Silas, his piercing blue eyes staring out from beneath the mask. “That gate was only the beginning.”
“That gate?” Silas asked.
Haverick’s stare narrowed at the question and he straightened his shoulders. “We’ve heard there are others either below the campus or the grounds. Maybe the city. You will return to Arcania to locate and open them.”
“Yes, sir.” Countless questions ran through his head. How would he find them? How would he open them? Or, what about the man who stepped out of the Nether? “You should know, there was a man who came out of the Nether an—”
“I will find him,” Haverick said firmly.
Silas paused. How was it that Haverick knew about Gabriel? He knew better than to ask. “Yes, sir.”
Silence stretched between them again before Haverick sighed, pushed up his mask only enough to throw back the liquor and pull it down again. He turned and placed the empty glass on the desk behind them.
“And what of Ezra?” The question stabbed him like shards of ice.
He didn’t want to answer. He didn’t want Haverick to know Ezra was still out there. “Alive,” he choked, as if the darkness inside him forced it out of his body.
“And the girl?”
Ivy.
“She is alive as well,” Silas said, the words barely loud enough to hear above the crackling fire.
A moment passed. Silence stretching between them again before Haverick shouted, the sound of his glass dragging along the desk before shattering against the ground. Silas’s spine straightened and he tensed, so tight to stop from quivering.
“How is that possible?” Haverick growled.
“I don’t know, sir.”
“Liar,” the voice hissed in his head. “You intervened. You saved them.”
Haverick’s heavy footsteps sounded from across the room until he rounded in front of Silas, staring at him. As he looked into Haverick’s eyes, he could’ve sworn there was a flicker of red in them.
“You will find out how she is still alive. No matter the cost,” Haverick said, his voice teeming with anger. “I will deal with my son.”
And, even though there was a mask covering Haverick's face, Silas could’ve sworn he was smirking.
A cold sweat beaded at the back of his neck.
This was why he’d told Ezra over and over that there could be no feelings.
There could be nothing more than stolen kisses or hours wrapped in each other’s arms. And despite their attempts at keeping it hidden, it was clear Haverick knew.
“Your weakness will be your downfall.”
Silas sighed quietly and nodded once. “Yes, sir.”
To be continued…