Chapter 12
“Ow,” I hear Tristan wheeze.
I open my eyes and look down to see Tristan staked out on the floor of the circle like Da Vinci’s Vitruvian man, Dusty splayed on top of him.
“Wow.” I stare first at them, then up at the ceiling. That worked really well. “I’ve never had a spell react so powerfully before.”
“So happy for you,” Tristan croaks. He and Dusty are struggling to disentangle themselves on the floor; it’s like they’ve been playing a drunken game of Twister. Which, knowing them, they probably have done at some point.
I help Tristan off the floor and the next thing we know Dusty launches herself at her boyfriend Bruce, who has been hovering around the circle I just cast, worriedly awaiting her return.
There’s a lot of kissing and moaning.
I turn to Tristan, my brows rising all the way into my hairline, but he just looks resigned. I guess they’re like this a lot.
“Uh, sorry to interrupt. Guys? Guys!!! HEY!” Tristan sticks his fingers in his mouth and whistles shrilly.
I wince and rub my ear. “Next time you whistle like that, please don’t stand so close to me.”
“You got it, Sting.” He grins and starts talking to Dusty, but I tune them out as I study the centre of the shop floor which, moments ago, held the most powerful circle I’ve ever cast.
I lean down and press my hand to the floor. There’s a strange vibration coming from beneath the floor, I can sense it deep down in the earth itself. I don’t think it’s physical. And it isn’t magic—in fact, if I had to guess I’d say it was metaphysical. Something supernatural.
“How did you find me?” Dusty asks loudly, and I realise she’s talking to me. “And how the hell did you get me out?”
“Tristan,” I reply, standing and dusting off my hands.
“I used his connection to you to pull you back from wherever you were being held. For a moment, I didn’t think it was going to work, but this place...
” I glance around. “It’s a huge amplifier.
I’m not sure if it’s because of the gateway or something else entirely, but the spell we managed to conjure was extremely potent.
It snapped you back to the earth plane. To Tristan. ”
“Tris, we need to be careful.” Dusty turns to him in all seriousness. “I think we’ve got something a lot bigger and scarier after you than an incompetent detective.”
“But why? I’m no one special,” he declares.
“I think it may tie back to Vivienne and this shop,” I muse, my gaze once again drawn to the remnants of the circle, or more specifically, to what I’m starting to think may be underneath it.
“You’re the one she named as caretaker to this place.
You specifically, and she said you would need Danny to protect you.
But what if it’s not the shop, what if it’s something inside the shop? ”
He shakes his head again. “Still don’t understand.”
“I’m not sure I do either, at least not yet, but I can feel it. Beneath the ground. There’s something here, something old and formidable. And whatever it is, I’m willing to bet that whoever hurt Vivienne and tried to get rid of Dusty wants to get their hands on it, but they have to go through you.”
“Hang on a minute.” Tristan’s eyes widen, and he raises his hands. “Whoa, right there! I didn’t sign on for anything like that. I’m a glorified keyholder, that’s it. I don’t do witchcraft, I don’t do magic, or whatever the hell all this is. I do dead people.”
“Ew.” Dusty wrinkles her nose. “That sounds really dodgy. Also illegal...and gross.”
“I didn’t mean it like that.” He reaches up and pinches the bridge of his nose. “I help people resolve their unfinished business and cross into the light. This is not my department. Why can’t you do it?” he asks. My heart jolts, then begins to ache.
“Because Vivienne chose you,” I say quietly, feeling a small pang of hurt in my chest, which is ridiculous. We may have shared a bloodline, but I was not a part of her life.
“I don’t want this.” He scowls. “I just want my life to go back to normal.”
“Here.” I loosen my tie and open the first button of my shirt. Reaching in, I withdraw a long gold chain. On the end of it is the delicate gold pentagram my dads gave me. Pulling it over my head, I then loop it over Tristan’s and tuck it beneath the neck of his T-shirt.
“What’s this for?” he murmurs.
“Protection, the strongest I can give you.” The necklace is very important to me, but I think Tristan needs it more right now.
“The pentagram has had such a bad rep since the witch hunts of the Middle Ages, but the truth is, it’s a powerful protective talisman.
My dads gave me this one when I was born.
I’ve worn it my whole life—this is the only time I’ve taken it off.
Don’t remove it for any reason.” I press my hand to his chest. “It will keep you safe.”
“Harrison, I can’t.” He stares at me. “You should?—”
“I know how to protect myself, but you’re right. This isn’t what you do, so let me keep you safe. You can give it back to me when we’ve figured all this out.”
“Thank you,” he whispers.
“The truth is,” I admit quietly, “I don’t have a lot of friends. I don’t let people close, never have. But I care about you and the others. I won’t let anyone hurt you.”
“We’ve got your back too, Harrison.” He gives me a warm smile and squeezes my hand, which gives me the strangest feeling in my chest. It’s…nice.
“Okay, then. If we’ve finished the love fest, I need to go,” Dusty announces.
“Where? We’ve only just got you back.”
She points one long-tipped nail upwards.
“Need to report this. Whoever is running around down here using dark magic messed with the wrong spirit guide in training. This is definitely against the rules, and someone up there needs to know about it. You”—she jabs a finger in my direction—“do not let Tris out of your sight until I get back.”
I nod in silent agreement and then, in the blink of an eye, Dusty is gone.
“Do you have the photos I asked for?” I ask Tristan.
He grabs his backpack from where it was propped against the cash desk and retrieves a folder, which he hands to me. It contains the close-ups of the symbols etched into my mother’s skin. I’m definitely going to have to show these to my grandfather to see if he recognises them.
We look up as the bell jingles and the front door opens. “I thought you locked that?” Tristan says.
“I did.”
A huge man built like a solid wall of muscle steps inside and closes the door behind him.
He’s got to be maybe seven feet tall and wears a long dark overcoat that hangs open despite the cold weather.
His skin is almost golden, and his eyes are dark, as are his beard and his hair, which falls thick and full to his shoulders.
There’s something almost feral about his looks, but they’re completely at odds with his calm, purposeful demeanour. He walks towards us as if he has all the time in the world.
“I’m sorry, this shop is closed,” I say firmly, reaching for Tristan’s wrist and drawing him safely behind me.
The wolfish-looking man pauses and looks down at the remnants of my circle, then continues his slow pace towards us. My magic pools in my fingertips, coiled beneath the surface and ready to defend us. He stops dead in front of us, looking first at Tristan, then at me, then straight at Bruce.
His eyes trail down to Bruce’s tiny eighties-era rugby shorts and those tree-trunk thighs before turning back to me. He leans in and sniffs loudly.
“A witch.” His voice is deep, like seriously deep, almost a growl, and I swear there’s almost a hint of amusement and recognition in his eyes, which is ridiculous because we’ve never met before. I’d certainly remember if our paths had crossed.
Then his dark gaze slides to Tristan. “And what are you?”
“A Sagittarius,” he squeaks.
The stranger’s lips curve, and a loud rumble of laughter bursts from his mouth. “You must be Tristan Everett. I have to say, Hadley was spot on when he described you.”
Tristan blinks at him in response. “You know Mr Hadley?”
My stomach clenches at the mention of the Crawshanks family solicitor.
If he’s involved with this man, it only reaffirms my suspicions that Mr Hadley and his firm know way more than they should about the supernatural nature of my birth family because everything about this hulking man in front of me screams, not human.
“My name is Lucien.” He holds out a huge hand, which Tristan shakes, looking slightly dazed as he stares up at the huge man. Then he turns and offers his hand to me, which I eye warily. Everything about this man that has my hackles up.
“Harrison,” I introduce myself cautiously as I shake Lucien’s hand.
The moment his skin touches mine, I suck in a sharp breath.
It’s really hot, almost like he’s running a fever, and a wealth of images slam into my mind, smoke and ash and flame.
But curiously, I don’t sense danger from him.
Don’t get me wrong, he’s definitely dangerous, but he doesn’t seem to mean us any harm.
If anything, I get a sense of protection blanketed by pure amusement.
It’s beyond perplexing.
I snatch my hand back as Tristan nods to Bruce.
“That’s Bruce,” he introduces them.
“Love the shorts.” Lucien winks at Bruce.
“I’m sorry, but why are you here?” I ask rather bluntly.
“I heard about what happened.” Lucien’s gaze drops to the open file and its scattered contents. “Bet you’re having trouble figuring out what language that is.” He nods to the photos.
“What makes you say that?”
“Because, my friend, that is a dead language. There are very few who would recognise it, even fewer who can translate it.”
“What is it?” Tristan asks. “Can you read it?”
“Me? No.” He shakes his head. “But I know what it is.”
My eyes narrow. “And what’s that, then?”
“It’s a much older, less corrupted version of Daemoniic, one of the lost languages of Hell.”
Tristan blinks. “Sorry, did you just say Hell?”
“Yeah.” He looks at the shop floor. “Believe it or not, I’m here to help.”
“Help with what?” I ask suspiciously.
“This,” Lucien replies.