Chapter 11
CHAPTER ELEVEN
As my world pivots off its axis, I'm plunged into darkness. It’s not a vision, exactly. It’s more like sinking into a memory that doesn't belong to me. The edges are unsteady, the colors wrong, everything saturated with the particular texture of terror.
Nine witches. It’s this cave they’re standing in, but it’s different. There are torches everywhere, a fire burning in the center, the rune circle on the wall blazing with light so fierce it should be blinding.
The Nine are standing in a circle with their hands linked, and fear in their eyes. They are not composed or ceremonial or certain.
They are terrified.
One woman is shaking so badly the man beside her has his hand clamped around her wrist to hold the chain. Another is weeping openly. The youngest of them can't be any older than I am.
This is the famous Nine?
The emotion rushing through them is ancient and raw. It washes over me like the icy water of a polar plunge. Pure animal dread.
They’re filled with certainty that whatever they're sealing inside this circle is so far beyond them, so utterly beyond any of them, that the only reason they're doing it is because the alternative is worse.
It’s not heroism. Not chosen sacrifice. It’s desperation so complete it’s curdled into a terrible resolve.
They had no idea if it would work.
Huh. They weren't the Nine confident witches of Freya's stories, standing tall and facing the ultimate power. They were nine brave spirit witches who'd run out of options, pouring everything they had into a ritual they weren't certain would hold.
They were just scrambling and doing their best to pull a positive result out of their asses like the rest of us.
Because the world would end if they didn't try.
The vision fractures and shifts perspective…
I’m still seeing the same cave, but it’s a different moment. The same faces are there, but the fire in the center of the room is lower now, and the circle is sealed.
Two of the gathered witches are lifeless on the ground with cloaks laid over their upper bodies. Two more are kneeling beside the bodies, crying. The others are gathered in a huddle around something I can’t see.
And they're arguing.
Their heated words are urgent and quiet. They’re deciding what to do about something important, and they don’t agree, arguing as if they’re in the aftermath of a catastrophe.
Which, given the death of two of their members, they were.
“The key must be separated from the stones. If the secret of its importance is discovered—"
“But is there anywhere far enough? Demons are—”
“—The new world.”
A collective gasp sounds from the group.
“Has your sanity left you, Arik? To lose the key to the journey across the waters is as dangerous as keeping it hidden here.”
“If the stones fail, it was all for naught. There won't be anywhere or anyone left to protect.”
“The stones could be repaired. The key cannot be replaced.”
“Enough. Stop speaking about me as if I’m not here!”
The image blurs, and my reality snaps back to where I’m standing in the ritual chamber. Asher is holding me by the elbows to steady me. “There you are. Welcome back, baby girl.”
I blink and focus on Orion and Rowan flanking me, looking worried. “Sorry. I did it again, didn’t I?”
Orion nods. “At least this time we didn’t get attacked by a giant black demon wolf. So, big improvement there.”
Asher’s expression tightens a little around his eyes, but that’s the only reaction I see to the reminder of the brutal attack he sustained to keep me from becoming Tharuzel’s puppet.
He died for me.
Thank the Goddess Mother he was also given back to me. My soul wouldn’t be whole without him.
Orion brushes my hair off my face and smiles. “So, what did you see, Pop-Tart?"
It takes me a moment to sort through the jumble of my mind, but once I’ve got a grip on most of it, I try to relay what I saw. When I’m finished, I add what I believe is the most important part. “They said that even if the lockstones fail, they could be repaired.”
Freya blinks. “What? How?”
I force the last of the fog out of my brain and try to remember exactly what was said…
“No idea. He said, ‘The stones could be repaired. The key cannot be replaced.’ And then the vision ended.”
“So was the key sent to the New World or hidden in Europe?” Orion asks.
“I didn’t see that part.”
Everyone looks at Freya.
She shrugs. “I have no idea. Like I said, there is barely a mention of the key. I was beginning to think I was making something out of nothing, but maybe the importance was removed from the information handed down to ensure it wasn’t found.”
“But what does it do?” I ask.
Asher strides back over to the ritual circle and begins scanning the outer ring of runes. “Maybe it’s like the reset of the traps in the corridors. Maybe if we have the key, we can reset the rune circle.”
Orion chuckles. “Wouldn’t that be nice? Sadly, when have our lives ever gotten a do-over button that fixes our problems?”
I roll my eyes. “Uh… never.”
“That just about sums it up.” Still, Orion moves to the doorway and starts examining the runes carved into the outer frame of the stone there.
“Maybe the answers aren’t for just any witches to find,” Rowan says.
“I mean… The Nine were powerful spirit witches, and they bound their energy and intention into this chamber. Since you three are spirit witches and descendants of The Nine, it’s possible that you have access to the breadcrumbs left behind by your ancestors.
Maybe Poppy saw what she saw because the information was left for one of you to find if you ever needed it. ”
Freya shares a meaningful look with Henrik and then nods. “Aye, it’s possible.”
“Then the three of you need to get touchy-feely with everything in here." Asher gestures to the chamber around us before waving me over. "The three shall caress the ancient stones, and the answers will be revealed."
I snort at the cheesy fortune teller voice he uses, but accept the task. Because, hey, in a world of demons and magical lockstones, visions left by the ancestors for those who follow isn’t the craziest idea I’ve ever heard.
“Okay, Asher, Orion, and Rowan, look for anything that could be related to a key. Think outside the box. It could be a medallion or a sword sliding into a crevice, or some kind of enchanted object. No idea is too crazy.”
Asher flashes me a wide grin and cups his fingers into a heart shape. “Now you’re speaking my love language, P. All right, prepare for a mental barrage of possibilities.”
“Emphasis on mental,” Rowan adds.
I chuckle. “And Freya, Henrik, and I will try to trigger any other visions that might’ve been left for us, either intentionally or on purpose.”
We all spread out around the room.
My first instinct is to go back to the rune circle carved into the wall, but Henrik seems drawn to it, so I let him feed his archeological passion and I check out the altar table.
Before I touch the smooth surface, I remember S’Nark sitting here and his objections. I pull my shield back into place, then turn to the others. “Oh, and you might want to raise your—”
Henrik touches the carving and—
The explosion is incredible.
A blast of magical energy explodes through the air, a searing white light enveloping the entire chamber. The force of the blast hits me, tearing my feet from the floor, and throws me backward into the air.
Before I hit the wall, Asher’s arms are around me and I’m standing in the hallway outside the chamber.
He sets me onto my feet and checks me over with a panicked gaze. “Are you okay? Another second and you were about to crack your head.”
I swallow, shaky but whole. “Thanks for the catch. Now, let’s get in there and check on the others.”
The two of us rush back inside, and my mind struggles to catch up. The temperature has plummeted. My breath mists in front of me, frost spreading in the air before me in rapid, crackling patterns.
I rush to help Rowan up.
Asher locks hands with Orion and pulls him to his feet.
But before we get a chance to check in with Freya and Henrik, the Gates of Hell open…
Spirits flood the cave.
Not the gentle, confused spirits I sometimes help to cross over to the After. These are emaciated abominations, their skeletal bodies twisted and contorted by rage and purpose.
"Defensive positions!" I don't know who I'm shouting at. No one. Everyone. Anyone.
The next few seconds are wild as everything happens all at once in every direction. The fight breaks out, and the chamber explodes into violent chaos.
“What the hell are these things?” Asher takes a swing and his fist goes straight through one.
“No idea. But they aren’t friendly.” Spirit fire blooms from my palm, and I see one going after Henrik.
Shit. He’s still down and not moving.
I pull back and throw, my fireball catching the angry spirit just as it’s about to pounce on Henrik. It screeches and explodes in a burst of light, but two more take its place.
“I’m hating this.” Rowan’s having the same problem as Asher, her shadows passing right through the spectral attackers with no effect. “What should I do?”
“Try to help Henrik. I think he’s unconscious.”
I duck the swinging grasp of a bony hand and deliver a fiery palm-thrust into the chest of my next attacker.
Freya staggers to my right, but she’s not in trouble. Her attack is a whip of focused spirit fire, and she’s crazy skilled with it.
Damn, girl.
My shield takes a hit from behind, and I spin. The spirit is practically on top of me and I grab it with both hands, releasing a rush of flame to consume it. It bursts apart, it’s screech so much worse up close.
I swear my eardrums are going to bleed.
When I turn to take on my next opponent, I’m relieved to see Henrik on his feet. He looks dazed and pale, but he’s in the game and he’s casting.
A spirit materializes in front of him, and he throws up his hands, but another appears behind him.
I slide up and over the altar table, calling spirit fire to both hands. I target the one behind Henrik, incinerating it before it can reach him.