Chapter 44
Forty-Four
“Isn’t there a panic room?” Eve asked nervously, as more explosions rocked the house. “Wouldn’t we be safer there?”
“It’s in the basement, off the kitchen,” Noah said. “Antoine designed it for Marcel, not for…” He met Cally’s eyes, moonlight catching his face. “They’re already in the house. We wouldn’t get there. We’re safer here.”
“What’s happening?” Eve pressed.
“Antoine’s fighting, that’s all I know.”
“Can’t you do the mind-link thing and ask him?”
“No, don’t,” Cally said quickly. “Don’t distract him.” She pulled Eve’s laptop around, the glow of the screen bright in the darkness, then closed her eyes. “Neart mo chnámh, seasaim go láidir, mo chroí ag bualadh, ní thiteann sé riamh.”
“Say what?” Noah asked.
“‘Strength of my bones, I stand firm; my heart beats, it never fails,’” Eve rattled off quickly, moving to sit beside Cally. “You’re still saying ‘thit-yun.’ It’s ‘hit-tyun.’” She paused. “Are you thinking what I think you’re thinking?”
“Damn right I am,” Cally muttered. “No time like the present to test it, right?”
“Uh, yeah, I suppose, if it works. Or no, absolutely the worst time ever, if it doesn’t.”
“Better get it right then,” Cally said. “Tabhair dom neart, mar thonn ag briseadh.” Give me strength, like a breaking wave.
Somewhere to the rear of the house, multiple explosions erupted in quick succession, peppering the walls and windows with flying fragments. Cally didn’t want to dwell too much on what they might’ve been.
“What the hell was that?” Eve asked, sitting straight up.
“Anti-personnel mines,” Noah muttered.
“Antoine mined the backyard?” Eve said sharply. “I took a walk out there!”
“Mo lámh is trom,” Cally said pointedly, reaching for Eve’s hand and clasping it—half to draw her back to focusing where it mattered, half to reassure her. “Mo chum—”
“‘Khoo-whut,’ not ‘chum’.”
“Mo chumhacht ag méadú.”
“Yes, that’s it.”
Cally closed her eyes again, muttering to herself against a background of screams and automatic fire. “All right, I think I’ve got it.”
“Babe, if you can cast it with all this shit going on, you really are a witch.”
“If I can’t cast it with all this shit going on, what good does it do me?” She held out her hand. “Pin, please.”
Eve grabbed it from the bedside table and passed it over. “A circle on your forehead, over your heart, and on your hands.”
“Yeah, I know.” Cally pricked her finger deeply, grimacing at the pain, but below Antoine was fighting, and somehow she knew he was in pain too. “Do I say it as I draw the blood, or afterwards?”
“No idea. Try both?”
Two concussive explosions detonated almost below the window, the glass rattling hard and one pane cracking. Cally clenched her jaw. If there was ever a time to get a spell right on the first try, this had to be it. Then she could get downstairs and help Antoine.
How many thralls were left? How many could he handle?
“Neart mo chnámh, seasaim go láidir.” Cally drew a circle on her forehead, then squeezed her finger to well up more blood, and slipped her hand inside her blouse. “Mo chroí ag bualadh, ní thiteann sé riamh.”
Eve nodded in approval, letting her know she’d gotten it right. She pushed out more blood, then paused, wondering whether to paint her palm or the back of her hand. They hadn’t discussed it, but she didn’t want to ask. Not mid-invocation.
Palm. It felt natural.
The lights flickered back on, her own relief reflected in Eve’s expression. She drew the circle on one palm, reached for the pin again, and stabbed a finger on her other hand.
“Outcast! Where are you, Outcast?” The shout came from directly below, inside the house, and Cally couldn’t help but share a look with Noah. His face was white, expression murderous.
“Tabhair dom neart, mar thonn ag briseadh.” She finished drawing the blood, wet and sticky against her skin. “Mo lámh is trom, mo chumhacht ag méadú.” My hand is heavy, my power growing.
“Good,” Eve said. “Do you feel any different?”
Cally didn’t. If the spell had worked, shouldn’t she feel something?
Shit. I didn’t focus my intent. How could she have forgotten?
“Antoine, old man.” The voice called again. “I know you can hear me. Are you lying bleeding somewhere? We’ll find you.”
That was how. She focused only on Antoine, on whether he was indeed lying bleeding somewhere. But she didn’t have time to get this wrong; she needed to be down there, helping.
“Neart mo chnámh…” She started again, squeezing out more blood, her finger throbbing as she ran it over the circle already sticky on the skin of her forehead. Strength. Give me the strength I need. Please.
A concussive boom erupted in the room beneath, rattling the bed frame and buzzing the windows in their panes.
Dust sifted from the ceiling as the house groaned around her.
Tell me Antoine wasn’t caught in that? She gritted her teeth, turning her fear into focus as she finished the incantation. “…mo chumhacht ag méadú.”
I need all the strength I can get.
But still she felt no different. No tingle on her skin, no light rushing through her. No swelling of her muscles, nor a sense of indomitable will. Fuck.
She turned to Eve. “It’s not worki—”
The bedroom door exploded inward, sending Noah flying across the room to crash into the wall. His skull hit with a brutal crack, and he collapsed, unmoving.
“I thought it would take me ages to find you,” came a bright, peppy voice, and Nico stepped in. “But that thrall breathes so loudly, I could hear him over the ruckus below.” He winked at Cally. “How nice to see you again.”
Oh, shit. Not him. Her first instinct was to pull on her bond to Antoine. She needed him, now.
Noah was tough. That wouldn’t have killed him, would it? She dragged her eyes from his unconscious form, focusing on the threat.
Nico was dressed in gray slacks, shirt, with a long gray coat, and Cally couldn’t help but think he was copying Antoine’s style—in gray. It was a strange, dissociated thought, like she watched impartially from across the room. Instead, she sat frozen on the bed, staring at his smirk.
“How did you get out of the Order’s cell?” she blurted. Back in the bunker, his first words to her had been that he would kill her when he got out. And here he was, with nothing to stop him.
“My stay was brief,” he said smugly. “My sire knew where I was, and came straight for me.”
Two thralls stepped past him, checking the room for threats. But there weren’t any. Noah was unconscious; Eve backed into the corner, her eyes fearful and her hand over her mouth.
“He would like to see you,” Nico added, as if it were an invitation to high tea. “When I told him about you, he was most curious.”
“What interest could he possibly have in a chattel?” Cally asked, stalling for time. She climbed off the bed, positioning herself between the thralls and Eve.
“Nice try, but I saw you with the Order, the night I felt your magic. I know what you are.” His eyes narrowed. “Roberto understands your value.”
“Roberto?” Cally echoed, with a thrill of fear. “Roberto’s your sire?”
Where was Antoine? Why wasn’t he already on his way? Cally focused on her bond, pushing with all her will. I need you!
“Obviously,” Nico drawled as if bored. He gestured. “Bring her.”
Both thralls closed in on her, hands reaching out to grab her arms.
“No!” Eve cried, rushing at the one on Cally’s left, even as Cally swiveled on her heel, hips snapping open. Her leg flashed up in a tight arc, the ball of her foot catching her target square beneath the chin, a clean hit.
She knew she was stronger than normal thralls; she’d demonstrated it in Minh’s nightclub, and Antoine had later confirmed it. But she still wasn’t prepared for what happened.
The thrall’s head whipped back like it wasn’t a foot under his chin, but a cannon.
His neck crunched loudly and he flew up into the air, arms flailing wide, eyes unseeing.
He struck the ceiling at the peak of his arc, then fell toward Nico, who barely twisted aside in time as the body crashed to the floor.
Everyone in the room froze, staring at Cally, who slowly lowered her foot, as shocked as the rest of them. Her spell had worked!
Nico reacted first, blurring forward, his hand closing around Cally’s neck. “Impressive,” he said, as his fingers squeezed tight, crushing her throat. “But that was merely a thrall. How does your strength compare to that of a vampire?”
Antoine! Cally grasped at Nico’s wrist as he lifted her like she weighed nothing, her head forced up, her toes scrabbling at the carpet beneath her.
She couldn’t breathe, couldn’t find the leverage to throw an effective blow.
She tried anyway, kicking out at him, but he just ignored her effort and laughed.
But that was instinctive, and she knew better.
Pry at the thumb. It was like Joon’s voice from the beyond instructing her, as he had for so many years.
Her grip shifted on his wrist, pulling down as she twisted, wrenching sideways at the gap in his grip.
Spell-fed strength surged through her arms, and he cursed as his fingers tore loose.
She dropped, one foot grounding on the floor, knee bending, balance flooding back. And that was enough.
She drove a strike at him, the blow born out of anger, fear, and desperation. He was still faster. He blocked with his forearm, diverting her blow so it caught low in his side with most of the impact dispersed. He took a pace back, curling his lip. “Time to go. Help me with this one.”
Eve braced against the thrall beside her, trying to keep him from Cally despite her diminutive size.
The thrall lifted his hand. Cally could see it coming, but was powerless to stop it—she’d given herself strength, not speed.
He backhanded Eve; her head snapped to the side, her neck twisting with a crack that cut through the room.
She spun from the blow, slammed into her chair, then crumpled to the carpet, lifeless and limp.