Chapter 27
The keeperof the prison realm gateway stood before the massive metal door. An image of an enchanted tree engraved into its thick surface. Ceremonial robes hung off his lanky frame. With gnarled fingers, the aged male twisted multiple dials, aligning the sacred emblems. Gears whirled deep within the mechanism. Heavy bolts slammed free and the door scraped open on its thick track, splitting the tree in half. Behind the door was a craggy stone wall. At its center was a glowing fissure, just large enough for a man to pass through.
No one truly knew what was on the other side. Only that those who entered were never heard from again. For centuries, the underworld had used the portal to dispose of their most violent and dangerous criminals. Record of its origins had been lost over time. The doorway so old none living remembered how it came to pass, though there were rumors it was how the first underworld creatures infiltrated the mortal realm.
On either side of the gateway was a raised dais with curved tables. Ten members of the High Court filled the chairs, five on each side. They looked down on the accused who stood before them, awaiting sentencing. Murmured voices echoed against the domed ceiling. Today, curious aristocrats occupied every seat in the room. None wanted to miss this momentous day. Many feared it was the beginning of the end.
Tiberius moved into position before the shimmering crevasse. Around his neck was his ceremonial sash. He uncurled the scroll he held. “Victor Custodis, the High Court has rendered their judgment. You are hereby found guilty of your crimes against the Council. Your sentence”—he paused, lips curling into a smug smile—“banishment.”
Gasps echoed at Marcus’s back. He sat on the bench in the first row. Four guards surrounded him. He watched the travesty of justice playing out. It was official. His uncle had lost his mind. The Council and High Court as well. He had little doubt half of them were in Tiberius’s pocket. If they’d dared to banish Victor to the prison realm, Marcus didn’t stand a chance.
Victor, to his credit, showed no reaction to his sentencing. The magical holding cell surrounding him vaporized. He strode to the gateway, snow-white head held high, his patrician face an icy mask. Guards stood on either side of him, energized staffs in their hands. Any resistance from the former clan leader and they’d drop him.
“Victor Custodis, do you have any last words before you enter the gateway and accept the repercussions of your crimes?”
To this, Victor slowly turned his head. The air chilled, power crackling. He stared Tiberius in the eyes, whispering something in a voice so low none could hear his words. Tiberius responded in kind when, suddenly, Victor’s hands snapped up, poised to wrap around the magister’s throat. Before he could make contact, the guards lunged, stabbing their staffs into Victor’s torso. The former clan leader convulsed, sparks of electricity jolting over his body. As the injured vampire collapsed, one of the guards kicked him in the chest, sending Victor tumbling backward into the void. Energy pulsed from the gateway, blowing through the room, ruffling Marcus’s hair.
Shadows darkened, his demon stirring. He drew a deep breath of brimstone and evergreen. “Carcerem,” the shade growled in his head, and a sense of apprehension swept over him. Carcerem was the plane from which the demon heralded. If what awaited them through that portal made even Shadow nervous, it had to be bad.
The gate keeper went through the motions of closing the vault door, and Tiberius stepped forward, speaking to the room. “In two days, the Council will hold an emergency meeting to discuss the appointment of a new clan leader for the Eastern Realm.”
No doubt that appointment would include one of his uncle’s most reliable men. But at what cost? Was he trying to start a civil war? Victor was well respected. Casting him into the prison world would cause unrest. Almost as much as the recent laws the magister proposed. Laws that would punish anyone found aiding or abetting Zion conspirators. Already, his task force had arrested a number of high-ranking members of the underworld. Their assets confiscated. The rumors were true about it being a witch hunt. Marcus their next victim.
Kaius, head of the High Court, raised his gnarled hand, and the room fell silent. Gold robes swathed his lean frame, his face aged, his manner pious. “Next on the agenda are the charges concerning Lord Marcus Steele. Lord Steele, step forward.”
Marcus rose from his bench, his guards eyeing him warily. He stood at the center of the emblem etched into the marble floor. Kaius twisted the ring on his finger, and the containment field materialized around the accused.
While Kaius expounded on the charges brought against him, Marcus’s thoughts raced. Victor’s conviction proved his uncle had influence over several members of the Court. No doubt he held sway with members of the Council as well. That meant he could have gotten Marcus out of this mess and chosen not to.
The conversation Marcus had with Helen ran through his mind. She’d said he couldn’t see past the end of his nose. Chastised him for not taking the investigation of his books further. Her words echoed in his ears. “Tell me. Who do you know that has the resources to bind you to a rare demon entity from another dimension?”
His focus shifted from Kaius to his uncle. Tiberius sat between the two daises of the High Court. The gateway’s golden tree formed a halo of limbs around his head, the effect less than angelic. Since Marcus had yet to claim a mate or sire younglings, Tiberius stood to inherit the majority of his personal assets. He’d been furious Marcus invested in the casino instead of his latest project. That project was a closely held secret. Not even Marcus was privy to the research findings.
As though sensing the direction of his thoughts, Tiberius turned his head, meeting Marcus’s eyes. The same satisfied gleam shone in their heartless depths as when he’d stared at Victor, his long-time rival.
By the gods. How could Marcus be so stupid? So blind? So screwed.
Like his father before him, it seemed he’d been betrayed at every turn. Helen, Tiberius… Dove. Thoughts of his Chosen threatened to gut him, and he pushed her image down deep. It was her betrayal that hurt worst of all. With her, he feared he’d given away more than his trust.
Finally, the long-winded official brought things to a close. Kaius leaned forward, peering down his nose at Marcus. “Lord Steele, how do you plead?”
Marcus stared back at him. In this sham of a trial, his fate was already sealed. He refused to make it easy on them. If they wanted to get rid of him, they’d have to take him apart piece by piece.
He lifted his chin. “Lord Speaker of the High Court, I plead—”
“Guilty. The bastard is guilty as sin,” said a shrill voice.
The spectators gasped, murmurs of shock ringing out.
That voice. No. It couldn’t be.Marcus’s heart lodged in his throat. He swiveled his head. Next his shoulders. Hips. Finally, his feet. However, his brain was slower to catch up.
Helen sauntered down the center aisle, heels clicking on the marble floor.
“Helen?” he choked out.
In response to his grated question, she pressed two fingers to her garishly painted lips and blew him a kiss. It was an odd gesture coming from Helen.
He frowned, sliding deep into a sludgy pool of confusion. How was she here? Alive?
Large, round sunglass sat on Helen’s upturned nose. Around her scrawny neck was a familiar scarf. Beneath her taupe pantsuit, her legs moved like two storm-battered twigs. Instead of her usual swagger, she moved as though someone had cranked a mechanical key on her back.
“Sorry I’m late,” she said to the court, holding up what appeared to be a slender black box with a blinking red light. “Silly me, I had to stop for batteries. Door,” she shouted over her shoulder.
As if cued by a director, the only door in or out of the chamber swung closed, sealing with an ominous thud.
“She’s locked us in,” cried a panicked voice.
“What’s the meaning of this?” the speaker barked, thumping his fist on the table. “Guard! Seize her!”
“Oh, I wouldn’t do that if I were you.” Helen smirked, her misshapen lips cinching into a grotesque imitation of a smile. “Dove, darling,” she called over her shoulder.
No! Marcus’s heart clenched, and he slid deeper into that sludgy pool. Dove stumbled into view, clothes tattered, bruises on her arms. Those seated nearest to her scrambled from their seats. Strapped to Dove’s chest were multiple containers filled with green liquid.
Beside Helen, she dropped to her knees. Long hanks of silver-blond hair tumbled over her shoulders, obscuring her face, hiding the abject terror he imagined he’d find there. She clasped her hands in her lap, sobbing and chanting a prayer, muttering words he couldn’t decipher.
Marcus’s demon slammed into his sternum and he grunted, nearly falling. “She calls on the darkness. Do you feel it?”
He felt something. Like the burning desire to lay waste to Helen once and for all. She dared to use Dove this way? Despite his anger with his Chosen, protective urges burned through his veins. She was his. None would punish her but him. Shadows gathered beneath him, spinning in a slow vortex. Red covered his vision, his damaged flesh heating.
“You have our attention,” Kaius grated from his lofty seat. “Tell us. What is it you want?”
“To give testimony, of course,” Helen said, pushing her sunglasses up her nose. “I have intimate knowledge of Marcus Steele’s many crimes as well as Zion’s.”
The crowd gasped. Members of the court leaned forward, curiosity outweighing their sense of self-preservation.
“This is outrageous.” Tiberius shot out of his chair, storming before Helen and her quivering captive. “The woman who stands before you is a reanimated corpse. I saw her dead body with my own eyes. This deception is the work of the necromancer who kneels at her feet.” He thrust a shaking hand at Dove. “The faerie has made this woman her puppet. Helen is in her thrall, and anything she claims must be disregarded.”
“Now, now,” Helen crooned. “Yes, I may have been dead for a teensy bit. Until this necromancer summoned me from the great beyond.” She flopped her arm in Dove’s direction, the motion unnatural. “The little fool believed she could gain my cooperation. Offered to put me back in my body if I cleared Marcus’s name. The second she did so, I took her captive, and I brought her along to watch how badly her plan backfired. Now I stand before you, eager to ensure justice is served and the guilty punished.” She leveled her shaded gaze on the magister, dark glasses obscuring her expression.
“But that’s impossible, Helen’s soul…” Tiberius pulled at his collar, sweat glistening on his brow.
“What was that, magister?” Helen cupped a hand to her ear. “Something you wanted to share with the rest of the class?”
“Shoot them,” Tiberius shouted at the guards. “Shoot them both.”
“No!” Marcus slammed his fists into the magical barrier. Shock waves of pain rippled up his arms.
Kaius shouted as well, “Belay that order. There are enough explosives strapped to the girl, she’ll likely take all of us with her.”
Dove rocked on her knees, her prayers growing louder, more frantic. Purple light shone between her clenched fingers. The pulsing glow similar to the stone in the amulet she’d used during his failed exorcise.
Tiberius clutched his chest and stumbled. “You depraved charlatan,” he snarled at Dove’s bent head. “The gods spit on your race. You’re a discredit to us all. You won’t get away with this.”
“Hold on,” said a voice at the side of the room. “Are those lemon-lime sports drinks strapped to her?”
“No. Nope. No sir, they are not. They are special containment units with highly explosive chemicals inside.” Helen danced an awkward jig in front of Dove, waving the detonator in the air. “Eyes on me, folks. Second I take my finger off—”
Before anyone could stop him, Tiberius backhanded Helen. She collapsed like a tower of cards. The detonator skipped across the marble. Screams rang out. Several people dove for the device. Hands fumbled for the trigger.
In the chaos, Tiberius lunged. Grabbed Dove’s shoulders. Wrenched her off the floor. “Enough of this charade,” he snarled into her upturned face.
Dove glared back at him, determination in her glowing eyes. “I agree.” She released the amulet she wore around her neck. Slammed her palms on either side of Tiberius’s face, grasping his head. Her silver mane swirled off her shoulders in a nonexistent breeze. In a deep, otherworldly voice, she commanded, “Demon, come forth.”
Tiberius spasmed in her grasp. His muscles seized as though electrocuted. Dove sank her nails into his skull. Blood trickled down his temples. She bared her teeth. “Show yourself, you deceitful jerk-face. Show them who you really are.”
“Dove!” Certain he witnessed her last moments on earth, Marcus slammed himself into the magical forcefield. Pain shattered his bones. He blinked, clearing his vision in time to see Tiberius’s hands drop from her shoulders.
Under Dove’s thrall, the magister threw out his arms and roared. Smokey tendrils of ink rose from beneath his collar. His face darkened, turning a ruddy shade of red. Chiseled shadows appeared around his glowing crimson eyes.
“What’s this?” Kaius peered over the table he’d ducked behind. “Did she detonate the explosives?”
“Kaius,” Marcus bellowed, pounding his fists against the barrier. “Release me. Now. Before it’s too late.”
Dove’s grip weakened, her body sagging. She was draining herself.
“Dove. Let go,” Marcus yelled. “You have to let go.”
“Not quitting,” Dove grunted. “All. Most. There!” She tumbled back, collapsing in a boneless heap.
“The detonator was a fake.” One of the guards stood up with the phony device in his hand.
Wait. Marcus squinted his eyes. Was that the remote to his entertainment center?
“What’s wrong with Magister Steele?” asked the man next to him.
Good question. Since Dove appeared, his trial had become a three-ring circus straight from hell.
Tiberius was hunched over, elbows on his knees, head in his hands. The crowd quieted. All heads turned in his direction. Silence descended.
The second guard approached him, manner hesitant, hand outstretched. “Sir, are you okay?”
Tiberius’s back heaved, his muscles flexing. Sick, keening sounds emerged from his chest.
“Sir?” The man grasped his shoulder.
In a shocking burst of speed, Tiberius spun and seized the guard by the throat. Terror registered in the man’s gaping expression as he stared into Tiberius’s distorted face. Blue vapor escaped from his lips, sucked into the magister’s mouth. Tiberius’s form expanded, seeming to grow stronger. Fabric tore across his back.
The guard shriveled. His eyes sank deep into hollow sockets, his lips withered, curling around his teeth. Finally, his decimated frame collapsed, his soul ravaged.
As those gathered watched on in horror, Tiberius straightened. From head to toe, his flesh appeared fractured. Between the fissures in his skin, a crimson light glowed. Onyx horns jutted from his forehead, rolling back over his skull. He leveled red-rimmed eyes on Marcus. “Hello, nephew. We need to talk. But first…”
Tiberius looked out over the crowd and drew his massive shoulders back. Muscles bulging, horns gleaming in all his demonic glory. In a booming voice, he commanded, “Behold your master. Kneel before Zion.”