Chapter 31
Chapter
Thirty-One
Franklin
Fuck. My head felt like it had been hit by a jackhammer . Scratch that, it was still being bombarded with the blasted thing. I groaned, the sound of Boone’s frantic call far away and muffled. A second sound filtered through the pounding static—Holland’s near-feral growl. I couldn’t make out the words. Honestly, I wasn’t certain if they were words or some type of archaic language I had no hope of understanding.
I gripped my head, pulling my hand away nearly as quickly as a fresh wave of pain radiated from where I’d touched. My hand didn’t come away wet, so at least I wasn’t bleeding. Head spinning, I tried pushing up onto my hands and knees, but a heavy hand on my back stopped me along with a whispered, “Don’t move. Not yet.”
I blinked past the searing pain. Bright lights flashed in my vision, and I was positive I had a concussion. Hell, if that’s all slamming my head against the wall caused, I’d count myself fortunate.
“H-Holland,” I muttered.
“I don’t have much time. Can you understand me?”
“Yes, but—”
“We’ve got one chance.” Something cold and metal slid into my hand. “I’m going into that circle.”
I tried shaking my head but that only made the world spin more. “You can’t. He’ll—”
“Shut up and listen. The sigils on the floor can be disrupted with nonmagical blood. Your blood. McCallister will be too busy with me to notice you. Play dead until you get an opening.”
“What? I—”
Holland pushed me flat against the floor.
Something else pressed into my hand alongside what I’d figured was a knife.
“That’s a pain charm. It won’t heal you, but it will take away the pain and allow you to act. Now, stay down,” he ordered before the pressure eased.
I lay there, shallow breaths barely making my chest rise and fall. I couldn’t exactly play dead, but I could play unconscious. My thumb worked across the charm he’d shoved into my hand and I pressed down, activating it. The relief was immediate, and I barely held in my sigh. My tense muscles relaxed, helping my ruse of unconsciousness.
I kept my eyes closed but my ears open. Listening, I realized I hadn’t heard anything from Boone since he’d screamed my name. My heart raced. Boone wasn’t the silent type. If he wasn’t speaking now, there was a reason. Christ, I really hoped that when this was all said and done, Holland left a piece of McCallister for me to flay.
“I’m here. Now, release my son,” Holland said, and I knew he’d stepped into that hated thing on the floor. Had McCallister used some type of bait to get his other victims into the circle? Or had he knocked them out and dragged them here? Maybe his victims weren’t solely based on connections. Maybe he’d chosen them because they were young and weak. Most likely it was a combination of both.
Nikodemus Holland was neither of those things. A whiff of sleeping dust wouldn’t have done jack shit to him, and that was assuming McCallister could have gotten close enough to use it in the first place.
“I don’t believe you’re truly that na?ve,” McCallister taunted.
“Of course not, but it never hurts to ask.” Defiance rang through Holland’s words. “So, you’ve got me where you want me. Is that it or are you actually going to do something with this abomination you’ve scrawled across the floor?”
“Erasmus was right. You are arrogant.”
“Erasmus is always right,” Holland said with pride, never once contradicting the statement.
I could imagine the frustration seeping through McCallister’s obvious obsession. “We’ll see how arrogant you are after I’ve taken what I want. You’ll fall just like the others—screaming until your throat is raw and your heart can no longer take the pain.”
“Promises, promises,” Holland continued taunting.
With an inhuman growl, McCallister began reciting words in a language I didn’t know. Even with my eyes closed, I could tell the room got brighter. Within a few seconds, Holland released his first scream. The sound tore through my chest. No one with that much pride should make such a wounded sound.
Anyone sane would have cringed at the noises Holland made. Not McCallister. His laughter contradicted reason and solidified his lost grip on reality. The words continued, but McCallister’s voice became strained. I wasn’t sure if it was the ritual itself or if Holland had found a way to fight him even while trapped. Regardless, I figured it was now or never.
My eyes slid open. Holland was in the circle. He’d fallen to one knee and was bent over, hand gripped tightly over his heart. Sweat matted his dark hair, now clinging to his forehead. Holland’s naturally pale skin appeared ashen.
I pulled my gaze away, refusing to look in Boone’s direction for fear of getting distracted. The circle wasn’t far away. Inchworming forward, I scooted until my forearm was close to the glowing sigils. Holland’s knife was sharp and did its work swiftly. His pain charm also did its job, eliminating the sting. Blood pooled around my wrist and forearm, dripping onto the floor near the sigils. I wasn’t sure how much blood it would take. Holland either didn’t know or hadn’t had time to tell me. I let it pool as long as I dared and then in one swift action, I shoved my hand into the blood and pushed forward, smearing it across the closest sigils.
The effect was immediate and anticlimactic. I’m not sure what I expected. An explosion? A fiery blast? A flare of light? Instead, none of those things happened. The sigil’s glow blinked out and became quiescent. McCallister’s circle of death was no more than useless graffiti.
“W-what?” McCallister sounded breathless, his earlier laughter long gone. “What did you do?” His tone went up several octaves.
I rolled onto my back, my laughter now filling the air. “I’m not sure, but hopefully I’ve royally fucked you up.”
“Indeed.” That singular word was more unsteady than I would have liked to hear, but at least Holland was still able to speak. More than that, he stood, pushing up from his crouched position. His skin was still far too pale and dark circles ringed his eyes. Rolling his shoulders, Holland twisted his head back and forth, popping his neck. His fingers clenched before spreading wide. With a twisted smile, he said, “My turn.”
I didn’t wait to see what he meant by that. I needed to get to Boone. I needed to make sure he was still alive, that we hadn’t been too late.
Crouching low, I ducked when something shimmering and deadly flew past my head. Shouts, grunts, and fracturing walls and rock filled the room with dust and curses. Dodging them all, I found my way to Boone and collapsed beside him. Blood leaked from a wound on his forehead. The slice across his neck thankfully wasn’t too deep and had already clotted. His pulse was thready and rapid and his breathing shallow, but at least he was still breathing. I held his cold body to mine, using my own flesh as a human shield to block what was happening behind us.
“It’s okay, Boone,” I whispered, brushing the hair from his face. “I’ve got you, and your father’s enjoying tearing McCallister apart. Captain Cicely’s outside. She’s got a whole coven of witches with her. When we get out of here, she’ll fix you right up.”
Witches were far better at healing than warlocks. I ignored the fact that I was in desperate need of some of that healing too.
None of us had been sure how things would go down. Captain Cicely called her coven sisters and they’d set up a perimeter around the bunker Boone was being kept in. They were the second line of defense in case we failed. Reluctantly, she’d stayed outside. We didn’t know McCallister’s full capabilities. We didn’t want to offer up a powerful witch coven for him to drain.
No doubt Captain Cicely could feel the magical release happening. Most likely she could hear it too. She’d be chomping at the bit to get down here.
As I sat there, cradling Boone’s body, the sounds around us dissipated to little more than a whimper. Without turning around, I knew who’d won the fight. Nikodemus Holland would never utter such a pathetic sound.
And then, even that disturbingly satisfying sound ended, leaving an eerie silence in its wake.
“Detective, is my son—”
“Alive,” I answered. “We need to get him to Captain Cicely’s coven.”
Holland’s hand landed on my shoulder, his grip firm. When I glanced up, the look of abject relief was heart-wrenching. Holland’s eyes were glassy and soft as he stared at Boone’s limp body. The warlock appeared worn thin and was barely standing.
“Looks like you could use a little witch healing too.”
Holland pulled his hand back and grunted. “As if I would degrade myself in such a way.”
Was it wrong to laugh? I suppose it didn’t matter because that’s exactly what I did. I threw my head back and laughed until tears leaked down my cheeks.
Holland’s eyes narrowed and his lips tightened into a thin line. “I believe your head injury is worse than I thought.”
I only laughed harder.