Chapter 14 #2
“She does for now, but I can see her growing more tired every day. Have you learned anything from the elders?” I ask, trying not to let on my desperation.
“Nothing. It is impossible to get those old fools to focus on anything but themselves. They are proving themselves to be a liability to our clan. They only act in their own best interest,” he grunts.
“They have become noticeably more self-absorbed since our uncle joined. He is still bitter over his loss of power. He grows more out of touch with reality with each passing year and seems to be bringing the rest of the elders with him,” I gripe.
“Have you learned any more from the fae?” He knows all that has come to pass in the other sessions.
“We did. I have a lot to tell you. And even more to ask of you.” I sigh, readying myself for the long story. As I recount everything the fae divulged and the vision it sparked in the Seer, he anticipates where I am going with it.
“Say no more, I will accompany you wherever these artifacts are located. I will call an emergency meeting with the elders first thing tomorrow so we can start searching for them. I will let you know the time so you can call in and order them to act like the doyens they purport themselves to be,” he promises.
“Push those pompous old fossils to get answers. The time to play nice is over,” I growl.
Elgar grunts in agreement. “Their insubordination and secrecy make me fear that the treachery within Monstera Bluff is not so rare an occurrence.”
Those elders better not hem and haw for too long. We need to reach out to the other clans as soon as possible to find out where these tools of Ada’s salvation are located.
I call my uncle, cousin, and a few elders who seem more level-headed than the rest, none of whom pick up. I send more text messages, pressing the issue, but I doubt this will sway them to care. None of my other communications to them in the last few weeks have. They always have the same excuses.
When Niven meets me outside a few minutes later, we agree to debrief while eating lunch at Midnight Mystic.
We barely walk a block before there is a wave of confusion in the streets.
As if choreographed, witches near us in the street freeze or stumble, all affected by some unseen force.
Then they whirl around as if looking for something.
Several more stagger out of storefronts.
One of them spots Niven, yelling, “It’s the ward! It’s under attack!”
Another witch jogs over to us. “All of us who feed our magick into the ward are able to feel it, but it’s never grown this intense before.” He pants as he holds his head in pain. It is a small mercy that Ada cannot feel it right now.
We jump in Niven’s borrowed automobile. I take the wheel, peeling down the road, taking us as close as possible to the location where the witches say they felt it. Niven barks orders over the phone to his teams, both the investigators and the trackers.
I drive the automobile as far offroad as possible, until we run into marsh. When the tires struggle on the softening ground, we abandon the vehicle and continue on foot. Murky, muddy ground slows our steps, slurping noisily at our feet. Niven curses as he nearly loses a shoe.
“Grant us passage over the terrain as if we’re on solid ground,” he snarls, shoving his foot back in the mud-covered shoe.
His spell on our shoes works immediately and we quicken our steps, though the thick grass and vegetation remain an obstacle.
Two figures, likely the warlocks, stand in the distance near a strange disturbance in the air.
Wards are not meant to be seen, but this blood red hole must be burning through it, forming a doorway almost large enough for the figures to squeeze through.
Their bodies are partially hidden behind it as we approach, though we hear their heated words to each other.
One yells at the other to hurry up. The other tells him to quiet down and let him focus.
The opening spreads at an alarming rate.
They must have some powerful magick at their disposal if they can break through the ward so easily.
New voices sound from behind and above us.
Witches from the coven and the tracker teams have quickly caught up.
I do not let that distract me while I search for the magickal source supporting the spell.
Alarmed at its strength, I cry out, “It is fae magick! Watch out!” I urgently absorb the unbelievable amount of magick powering the spell, but I can barely keep up.
The potency of this spell is way beyond anything the warlocks should be capable of on their own.
Dozens of witches around us start casting their own spells, presumably fighting against this blight slicing through the ward.
None of our efforts make a dent in its slow spread. Within seconds, the warlocks push themselves through, a subtle haze surrounding their forms. It is a protective spell, from the looks of it. They are about to unleash something deadly.
“Protect yourselves!” Niven shouts into the fray, coming to the same conclusion.
The more putrescent and sinister looking of the two steps forward and tosses up a glowing yellow orb.
Rushing into action, I push my abilities to the limit, further than ever before in my life, wrenching strong swells of magick out the orb to weaken it.
There’s no time to transfer it into the clear quartz.
I let it go into the atmosphere. Even the leak of its magick is so potent it feels like being exposed to a sudden rush of fumes, making it hard to breathe.
The orb pulsates and it is clear time has run out. It will detonate at any moment. With everything left in me, I tear away the strongest root I can find that binds together the orb’s foul fae magick. Hopefully it will weaken the worst of the spell.
In the blink of an eye, I am blown several feet backwards as the orb explodes, shooting energy outward in all directions, the force of it like a bomb. The wind knocks out of me, even though I land in marshy sludge. The cushion probably saved me from worse injury.
Wheezing in breath, I lay there for several seconds, weak but whole.
It is a struggle to get up once my breath catches again.
The flyers—gargoyles, gryphons, and other winged Whispered Folk on the tracking team—all fell from the sky.
They slowly push themselves up from where they dropped around me, looking muddy and scratched, though mostly unharmed.
Before it strikes me to locate the two warlocks, Niven’s voice rises behind me, exhausted but steady, “Grasses weave into sturdy rope and bind those with wicked hearts.” The marsh vegetation surrounding the two warlocks surges unnaturally high and swirls like several mini tornados, weaving sections together from the ground up.
When they resemble long, thick lengths of rope, they wrap around each of the warlocks like mummies from human history.
Their furious screams muffle as the rope circles around their faces.
Niven, still sitting in the mud, flops backward onto his elbows, fatigue catching up with him. I stagger over, lowering onto my haunches. If I dare sit down, I might be too tired to get up again. “Good work,” I tell him as I check him over for injuries.
“I could say the same of you,” Niven scratches out, chuckling softly.
He takes my outstretched hand, and I slowly pull him up.
He wobbles on his feet, so I hold steady him while we make the slow walk back to his automobile after checking on everyone else.
Those who were furthest back from the blast rush forward to help those hardest hit and to make sure the warlocks are incapacitated.
Luckily, Niven’s spell on our feet still lingers, otherwise we would not be getting out of here on our own.
“I called it, didn’t I?” Niven jokes from his bed next to mine in the crowded healers clinic, his voice still sounding rough. I turn my head toward him, confused by his statement. “We didn’t even need those extra forty-some hours.”
I grin, understanding him finally. He certainly called it. It is a relief it ended as quickly as it did.
Before I can respond, Ada’s melodic voice sounds from within the clinic, making apologies as she rushes through, weaving around healers and visitors crowding the space. She is wild-eyed as she approaches us, like she expects the worst.
“I came back as soon as I heard what happened. I had only just left here when everyone felt the ward,” she utters as she stops between our beds, sounding winded. My poor mate must have jogged here. Hopefully she was not worried for too long.
“We are alright,” I assure her, reaching out to pat her arm before I even realize what I am doing. To my surprise, she takes my hand in hers and squeezes it tightly. “We just needed a light healing tonic to help with some bruising.”
Her eyes dart between me and Niven, as if she is assessing for herself whether I tell the truth.
“We’ve seen better days, but after a long night of sleep, we’ll be fine,” Niven confirms, patting her other hand she placed on his shoulder.
“The warlocks are in custody finally. A team of guards just arrived from New York to escort them through the portal. It’ll be my pleasure to make their interrogation long and thorough.
” He cracks his knuckles in a cliché gesture, making Ada laugh.
“Will you have to leave soon?” Her melancholy voice pulls at my heart.
His smile fades. “Yes, sometime tomorrow. I’ll probably be gone until after Yule. But I promise we’ll spend some time together tonight before I go.”
She will miss having him here. And no doubt she is worried about her health. I give our joined hands a little squeeze in return, hopefully sending some comfort back to her.