Chapter XIV
XIV
The Acheron Order rarely meets. Members live across the globe, and bringing them together creates logistical problems even the most patient among the Order struggle to tolerate.
Most disputes are resolved by committee.
The Elders act as the go-betweens for different groups within the Order, and much of an Elder’s day is spent conversing with members and addressing their concerns.
For the Order to be drawn together, all at once, something truly great or truly terrible must be under way.
Vic struggled to keep pace with Xan as he swept down the hallway. On all sides, billowing candles and torches lit the castle like a house engulfed in flame.
For the first time since Vic had arrived at Avalon Castle, it came alive. All around them, doorways flew open and rooms’ occupants poured into the halls. Witches pressed against one another in the typically desolate corridors. All of them headed in the same direction—down.
People crowded against Vic and Xan as they reached a stone staircase. The steps were compressed in the center from use and the walls echoed the lamplight in shades of orange and red. Descending into hell, Vic thought as she pushed through the crowd.
Xan didn’t have to fight through this mess, she realized.
No one shoved against him. After losing her footing in the torrent, Vic grabbed a fistful of Xan’s T-shirt to steady herself.
The skin under her knuckles was hot and hard, and Vic couldn’t help noticing how muscular he was under all the clothing.
As if reading her thoughts, Xan shot an offended look over his shoulder, clearly fighting the urge to throw her off him.
If he wanted her to keep up, then they should hold hands, she nearly snapped back. Perhaps that would pacify him.
Then again, after his behavior in Max’s office, maybe he would welcome it. Vic swallowed.
Down the stairs they went, flight after flight, until Vic was sure they were beneath the Arena, deeper even than Limbo.
Vic wondered dimly if the Order’s fixation on re-creating a medieval castle extended to the maintenance of a dungeon.
It smelled like it did. The air reeked of dirt and moisture and something old.
And the deeper they descended, the stronger the smell became.
The staircase bottomed out into a tunnel. Surrounded by wet stone, the passage angled down and dragged them into the earth.
And there were even more people than before.
The crowd thickened, and Vic turned toward an influx of witches.
They were coming out of the walls, she realized with a jolt.
Along the sides of the tunnel, narrow gaps opened where stone had been an instant before, and people hurried through.
Some looked confused, a handful excited, but none of them marveled at the fact that they had popped out of solid rock.
While Vic goggled, a rough hand closed around her waist, and she gasped.
Her eyes shot up to find Xan’s glowering face only inches from hers.
She started backward, but the hand on her waist held her still and her breath hitched.
She caught a look of something in his eyes, a flash at the contact like he felt a shock, too.
But it was gone in an instant and he was glaring at her.
“Keep up,” Xan said. “And stop stretching out my shirt.” His mouth came up against her hair for an instant, ruffling the air around her ear.
A shiver ran down her spine. But then Xan was moving, and the hand around her waist left a buzzing cold when it fell away and encircled her wrist. He pulled her forward into an enormous space.
A cave, Vic realized. A vast cave full of people.
A massive fire at the front threw the space into dappled light, and Vic was struck once again by the sense of moving backward in time to a place deep and ancient. Vic gaped in horror, not realizing she had stopped again.
The room had been carved into a pit. Steps led in a semicircle to a stage at the bottom.
A dais, she supposed, was the proper word, though she had never before had an occasion to use it.
The platform was elevated above the lowest steps and arranged with rough-hewn wooden thrones.
But Vic’s gaze stuck on the crude sculpture behind them.
It might have been a tree once, with a trunk nearly as wide as the dais around it.
Carved by man or nature or some force belonging to neither, Vic could not tell.
At least thirty feet tall, the statue curled up toward the rock ceiling, roots and branches spiking out from its center.
In the middle of the wide trunk was a face from a nightmare.
Hollow eyes slit sideways and opened to nothing.
Its open maw held the flames that lit the room.
It screamed fire, and witches swarmed around it like moths.
A blurry form pulled Vic back to reality. Sarah lunged toward her in a swirl of messy hair and a flash of pink pajama top.
“Are you okay?” Sarah shouted, and Vic nodded.
The rough hand slipped from her arm, and Vic reached for it without thinking.
But over Sarah’s shoulder, Vic watched Xan’s dark head disappear through the crowd.
She felt exposed without him, as if he’d thrown her to the wolves.
Sarah pulled Vic to the steps, which the rest of the witches began to use as seats throughout the massive space.
They found an opening at the far edge and sat against the stone wall. This must be the entire Order, Vic thought as the space grew cramped. Most of them looked ruffled at the rude awakening. Plenty had their hands over their ears, and they faced the front of the room, waiting.
Men in black gathered on the dais. They wore heavy sleeveless hooded tunics, which split at the center and ran down their fronts in two thick bars.
Of everyone in the room, these men looked the most at ease.
A few of them lounged on the ugly wooden chairs placed in a crescent around the platform—there were twelve thrones, one for each Elder.
Max stood beside Elder Thompson, looking strained as he surveyed the crowd.
One of the older men moved to the front.
He pulled his hood up, and it fell in front of his eyes and nose, leaving only his mouth exposed.
Vic frowned at the reminder of the human servants, and scanned the room to find that none of them had followed the Order into the earth.
Meetings must be for witches’ eyes only, Vic realized, and she shifted in her seat.
The Elder’s lips were thin and cracked with age. He held both hands up with palms facing the room, and his mouth moved. Something in the palm of each hand flared red. The roar around them was snuffed out like a candle.
Silence fell thick and heavy on the expectant crowd. Vic’s ears rang at the sudden absence of deafening noise.
When the Elder spoke again, his voice sliced the air. Vic felt the words hit her chest like a hammer and knew that he spoke magic more powerful than anything she had heard before. As he finished, a pulse ran through the room. Vic’s heart beat faster. The meeting had begun.
“Elder Shepherd has called an emergency assembly,” the old man announced, his voice dry as sandpaper. Vic heard him as clearly as if he had spoken directly into her ear. A murmur rippled through the crowd.
Max stepped to the front of the dais and bowed to the other Elder. He did not raise his hood before addressing the room.
“I’m sorry to interrupt your evening, and to force so many of you to return to the castle on such short notice.” Max nodded to a group of older witches. “Rest assured I would not have bid you come if it was not necessary.”
He spoke in a clear voice that seemed to resonate within the earthen walls.
“A member of our community was killed last night. Her body was discovered in the library this evening.”
Vic saw confusion, fear, concern on the faces of the nearby witches. Some searched the crowd as if looking for a missing member.
“The deceased was Rachel Ogden.”
Rachel Ogden, Vic repeated to herself. How had she forgotten to ask her name?
“Ms. Ogden worked as a servant for the Order for nearly a decade.”
The Elder beside Max still had his hood up when he spoke. “You summoned us here because a human was killed?”
“We believe she was killed by a strix,” Max said. “An Orcan has entered the premises.”
A shock ran through the crowd, and the shouts began.
Chaos built on itself as voices echoed through the room. People turned and talked to their neighbors, speculating about what could have led to this, if it had been an accident, how this could have happened within the castle.
“The creature has not been found,” Max continued over the noise. “Obviously, this is a matter of grave importance, and we need to—”
“Who found the body?”
Nathaniel lounged on one of the thrones behind Max. He leaned forward when he spoke, as if to relish the answer when it came.
“I did,” Max said without hesitation. “During my nightly rounds. It was clear she was attacked by something that should never have been able to access the castle.”
Nathaniel sat back, his eyes narrowing.
“Our stronghold has been breached,” Max continued, returning his attention to the room. “As such, we must enact additional protocols to protect the castle. The Sentinels will resume constant patrols, and a team will be sent to—”
“Perhaps additional protections are necessary,” Nathaniel interrupted. Max faced him with his hands behind his back. “But it’s no secret we’ve fallen behind on respecting existing protocols.”
“Elder Carver,” another Elder cut in beside him. “This is not the venue for this discussion.”
“But this is the perfect time to discuss a matter that affects us all,” Nathaniel said. “How often do we get the chance to resolve disputes with the whole of the Order present?”
Max watched Nathaniel but made no effort to stop him.