Chapter Twenty-Nine
After a few minutes, Owen turned his earpiece back on, keeping an arm around me. “I know I was off comms for a bit,” Owen muttered, making me smile. “Trust me, I’d love to get a room.”
To me, he said, “Jace confirms the tour has exited the staff area. No sign of Sylvia, and Todd is being detained by security in an office. Let’s go.”
“Jace didn’t sound happy about being out of touch,” I said as Owen opened the closet door.
“He’ll get over it.” Owen gave me a quick, hard kiss. “Let’s get the Emberstone.”
But fifteen minutes later, we had yet to find it.
“Okay, Kira, where is this stone?” Owen said, checking around another corner.
I was more worried than I cared to admit.
I had sensed the dagger on the cart the other day.
Why couldn’t I feel it now? It had to be in one of these storage rooms, but what if I didn’t find it before the gala ended?
What if I couldn’t save Charles? I fought down my rising panic. “I don’t know. I can’t feel anything.”
“Jace, does Shae have any ideas?” Owen asked after glancing at my face.
We never heard Jace’s response. A low, off-key whistle drifted down the hall, and Owen pulled me behind a pillar.
“You can come out now,” Todd called.
Owen had Todd pinned against the wall before I could react. He held him by the throat as Todd gasped and struggled. “I told you not to touch her! What the fuck are you doing here?!”
I rushed toward them, more afraid of the consequences for Owen than for Todd.
“Owen, stop! He’s not worth you going to jail!”
Owen tightened his hold on Todd, then released him abruptly. One second Todd was slumped on the floor, gasping for air, and the next he was lunging at Owen, tackling him to the floor.
“Bastard!” Todd screamed, straddling Owen’s chest. He got in a solid uppercut to Owen’s jaw before Owen rolled him over and punched him in the face.
But Todd was too strong to stay down. He swung at Owen, and the blow dazed him long enough for Todd to gain his feet. Soon, the two men faced each other, breathing heavily, each waiting for the other to move first. Owen’s jaw clenched as he kept his body between me and the threat.
Todd lunged, roaring and spitting blood, his eyes gleaming with fury and something darker, his fists flying with reckless speed. His nails raked Owen’s face.
I screamed as Owen staggered, blocking the assault as best he could, but Todd was relentless and unhinged. Unnatural. I realized with growing horror that he was fighting to kill.
The thought of losing Owen filled me such rage that my chest spasmed with power.
Owen would not die. He would not leave me.
Todd flew through the hallway, hitting the wall with a sickening thud before crumpling to the ground. Owen’s head snapped to me, his eyes wide. “Kira,” he gasped.
My dark power swelled within me, sharpening every one of my senses.
Sound thinned until each note separated: I could hear Owen’s rapid heartbeat, the distant chatter of the gala, the swipe of an employee’s key card two levels above us.
Scents fractured: the antiseptic lemon of cleaning solution on the floors, varnish flaking off centuries-old paintings, papers smelling of dry wood pulp and dust. Shadows stretched from the corners, gathering at my feet, awaiting my commands.
They nudged my attention and guided my focus through the museum.
Nothing could hide from me now.
“Shhh…” I said, my voice far away as I walked down the hall. “I’m tracking the Emberstone.”
I entered a storage room with shelves stacked with boxes, artifacts, and tomes, and stood utterly still while I slowed my breathing.
A quiet inner sense unfurled outward like invisible fingers, and the room yielded to me in layers.
Dust motes suspended in the air glimmered briefly as my awareness brushed past them.
Is this what my dark powers could do? I felt incredible. Limitless. Invincible. What else could I see? What else could I influence?
Bugs scurried along the floor under a shelving unit.
A spider sat in its web in the corner, lying in wait for its next meal.
I could feel its hunger. I passed by, then stopped.
It deserved to eat. I convinced a bug to scuttle toward the web and watched with rapt fascination as it got stuck.
The spider paralyzed its prey, then wrapped it in silk.
I let the rage in my chest expand. My inner sense stretched to the shelf above the spider. Mould spores grew on the edge of a book, spreading into the paper. They deserved to live as well. I encouraged them to eat the book, to devour the words written there.
Paper. Paper was dead wood, but it had once been alive in the form of trees. The pages of each book held memories upon which new memories were written. Could I access them?
I reached deeper, welcoming the black roots that wormed their way across my chest.
I sifted through book after book, encountering different types of paper—onionskin created from wood pulp and cotton fibres, vellum made from animal skin, and papyrus formed from the pith of an Egyptian plant.
All had once been alive but now lived through time in a different way.
Holding the history of the world and its stories for future generations.
And then I found it. Cloaked in shadow on the last shelf sat a small box, barely visible behind a stack of brittle records. I reached for it, and a warm prickle danced across my skin. Lifting the lid without touching it, I folded back an oil cloth to reveal a dagger.
The Emberstone.
It was ancient and narrow and wickedly elegant, its hilt crafted from bone and worn smooth with time.
A tendril of orange light spiralled up from the dagger, making its black blade gleam and throwing moving shadows against the shelves.
Druidic symbols flickered in the air, and the Emberstone Guardian—the spirit of the third Druid, a warrior—shimmered to life before me.
Shamus. Freya’s husband.
He was made of living flame, with eyes that burned like twin suns, and every movement left trails of smoke and flying embers. Yet there was no heat, and not one of the books or papers near us caught fire.
I glanced at Owen, who was now standing next to me, his battered and bloody features hardened with determination. He gave me a nod of encouragement.
I needed a clear head for what came next. It was important I meet the Guardian as myself, rather than as a dark Druid hellbent on domination.
But the black roots under my skin surged and clawed at the edges of my control.
They pressed against my ribs and burned along my veins, roaring their demand for release.
Thoughts of burning the museum to the ground, forcing the Guardian’s total surrender, and taking the blade as my own raced through my mind. Why not try?
A hand closed around mine.
“Look at me,” Owen said. His steady voice and touch cut through the chaos churning within me, anchoring me to the present. “You’re stronger than your dark magic, Kira. Never forget that. You control it.”
He was right. I needed to earn the Emberstone, not take it by force.
A fight between the Emberstone Guardian and me could raze this museum and nearby buildings to the ground.
And I needed to learn to control the darkness within me so that one day I could expel it from my body as the Waterstone Guardian had foreseen.
I needed to prove to myself that I was more than the darkness within me.
I synched my breaths to Owen’s. With each slow, deliberate exhalation, I pushed the darkness back, until the black roots had receded from my chest and limbs and were once again contained within the dark spot over my heart.
The roar dulled to a snarl, then to a sullen, simmering heat deep in my chest.
“That’s it,” Owen murmured. “I’ve got you. Not that you need me. You’re the strongest, bravest person I know.”
I felt the truth of his words. I was stronger than my dark magic. Even now I could feel it caged within me, ready to be used when I needed it. I was its master. And I knew Owen would always be there to lend me his strength if I ran out of mine. We were a team after all.
I squeezed Owen’s hand to express all the things I wished I could say out loud. He squeezed back, letting me know that he understood. Then we both turned to face the Emberstone Guardian.
“What do you seek within my flames?” The Guardian’s voice crackled like burning wood.
“The Emberstone, the stone of Fire and Blood,” I said, my voice even. It seemed I was getting used to speaking with magical beings.
“Blood reveals what is sought. Who will you sacrifice to pass my test and earn the Emberstone?”
My stomach lurched, and Owen drew a sharp breath.
“What do you mean?” My voice trembled now, and I fought to steady it. Something told me this Guardian respected only strength.
“The Emberstone requires sacrifice as proof of will, and the blood that is spilled must be given with purpose and resolve. A drop will not do. The sacrifice must mean something.” The Guardian’s faint smile was nothing more than a ripple in the fire.
My mind raced. “Must the sacrifice result in death?”
“Yes.”
“Can it be my own?”
Owen shifted beside me, tension rolling off him, but he remained silent.
“No.”
My heart tumbled over. “There is a man down the hall—”
“You do not love him. His death will mean nothing. You know who it must be.”
I needed to remember to breathe. I couldn’t think if I didn’t breathe. What had Marion’s book said about this Guardian? The third Druid valued fury, cunning, and courage.
“Owen’s life is a far greater price than is due for the Emberstone. I will not pay it. I will not sacrifice him.”
“You would give up the Emberstone to protect the man you love? You would let the world burn?”
“Yes. That is itself a sacrifice. I choose to sacrifice the many for the one.”
The Guardian was not smiling now. “You play a dangerous game with words. Without the Emberstone, you cannot defeat Craos, and your love will die along with the rest of humanity.”