King of the Damned: A League of Guardians Novel (13 page)

Everyone was in the kitchen when she entered. Hannah was deep in conversation with Priest and Nico. She looked up quickly, a guilty look on her face, and Rowan’s eyes narrowed. If Hannah was putting sinful inappropriate thoughts in her mind, she’d deal with her later.

Cedric and Frank were cleaning weapons—the kitchen table was overloaded with them—and Azaiel leaned against the counter, trying like hell to ignore the orange tabby, who seemed determined to win him over.

Rowan took a second and glanced at all of them though she didn’t quite meet Azaiel’s gaze. With the lusty thoughts and fresh images of his naked body still burned into her brain, she didn’t think it was a good idea. For all she knew, he had mind-reading capabilities.

Wouldn’t that be an awkward thing to explain?

“Have you contacted everyone in the coven?” She directed her question to Hannah, and her cousin nodded vigorously, moving away from Nico and Priest.

“Yes, they’ll be here within the next few days. Terre and Vicki should be home by tomorrow. Clare is in Europe, but she’s catching the first plane from Dublin, so a few days at most, and I’ve not heard back from Simone though I left a message. Abigail and”—she stumbled—“Kellen will be here tonight.”

“Good.” Rowan nodded to Cedric. “Okay, it’s time.”

Cedric carefully placed the gun he’d been cleaning back on the table and slowly got to his feet. He walked with an uneven gait—his arthritis was worse in his right leg—and as he left the kitchen she caught the look that passed between Hannah and Frank.

Azaiel pushed away from the kitchen counter, muscles rippling across his shoulders as he stretched. You really could bounce a damn quarter off the perfection that was his abs, and if those jeans slipped any lower . . . She shot him a look of irritation.

“Can you not put a shirt on?” she snapped, eyes stormy, temper rising.

I did not just say that out loud.

His golden eyes darkened, and she hoped like hell he wasn’t going to acknowledge her comment.

“What’s it time for, Rowan?” Priest asked quietly.

Rowan exhaled and squared her shoulders. Saved by the priest it seemed. “We’re going to spring my mother from the asylum.” And break a few dozen laws along the way.

Nico moved forward. “Mental institutions have security, yes, but it’s minimal at best.”

Rowan studied his dark, fathomless eyes. “You were locked up?” The question was more of a joke, but the jaguar’s eyes flattened, and his mouth thinned.

“Yes.”

“I’m sorry to hear that.” And she was. When the shifter wasn’t being an arrogant asshole, there was substance there that held a whole lot of pain and hurt.

“It shouldn’t be hard. Not for us.” Priest flashed a smile. It was obvious he was eager to do something more than sit around her kitchen table waiting for the enemy to come to them.

“Shit, you have no idea,” Hannah muttered.

“Mother’s not in a human institution.” Rowan paused. How could she make them understand? “It’s more like Azkaban.” At the blank looks on both Nico and Azaiel, she shook her head, clearly disgusted. “Harry Potter anyone? Seriously? Where the hell have you guys been hiding?”

Priest stepped forward. “You don’t want to know. I, however, am more than familiar with human pop culture. What’s the story with this place?”

“There is no way in other than by blood, and since I’m banned from the island, that won’t work,” Rowan replied.

“Why are you banned?” Azaiel asked.

“You really don’t want to know.” Hannah shook her head.

Rowan shot a look at her cousin that said zip it before meeting Azaiel’s probing gaze. “It’s not important. It just is.”

“So we break in.” Azaiel moved closer.

“Yes.” Rowan nodded. “But it’s not that easy.”

“Nothing ever is.” His eyes were still flat, and, for a second, she thought that maybe he was angry with her.

Priest spoke up and motioned around the room. “Trust me. I don’t think this group will have trouble breaking into an otherworld insane asylum.”

Rowan didn’t bother to answer. The man had no clue as to the real power that existed amongst sorcerers and witches. If he did, he wouldn’t have made such a flip comment. She decided there and then that at some point over the next few weeks, she’d make sure Priest understood it. Fully.

There were those who knew, those who would take . . . those like Mallick.

“If
we make it into the asylum and right now, that’s a big if, there’s the whole problem of actually getting back out . . .”

“If we can get in, we’ll make it out,” Azaiel cut in.

Rowan took a second. Breathe. “I’ve no doubt we’ll find a way out once inside. I was more concerned with keeping my mother unharmed and making sure we have all of our body parts intact.”

Priest frowned. “Okay, just so we’re clear. What’s the reason for this breakout?” He glanced around the room. “If the shit is coming down here in Salem, won’t your mother be safer inside some heavily protected asylum?”

“I need her,” Rowan answered. “She may be crazy, but she’s still a James witch, and her power is impressive.”

She didn’t like the way Priest’s eyes narrowed. He didn’t believe her. Rowan held his gaze for several seconds before looking away. Screw him. The fact that he was right to be suspicious only made her more defensive. She
did
need her mother’s power, but it was the other reason she needed her that mattered more.

Rowan just hoped Marie-Noelle’s mind wasn’t so far gone that she’d be useless.

Azaiel nodded toward the door. “Let’s go do it then. There’s no point in just talking about it.” A frosty smile crossed his features. “I’ll even put a shirt on for you.”

“If you must,” she replied with equal coolness. “We’ll go, but first . . .”

“But first?” Priest prodded.

Rowan’s attention turned to Cedric as he walked back into the kitchen with a large scroll in his grasp. He also clutched something under the crook of his right arm.

Frank and Hannah removed all the weapons from the large table, and Rowan helped Cedric spread an ancient map on the table. Her fingers trailed across the tobacco-colored paper and followed lines that had been etched centuries earlier by a relative . . . a woman whose blood she carried in her veins.

Pretty powerful stuff. It was but one piece of her history—one piece of her soul—and she was filled with emotion.

She glanced at Cedric, and mouthed, “
Thank you.”

She eyed the faded parchment, then turned to the men, and whispered, “First we have to find it.”

Chapter 13

“Y
ou have to find it.” It was a statement, not a question. Priest no longer looked like he was in his happy “we get to go hunting and possibly kill things” kind of place. “How can you not know where it is?”

Rowan gave Priest an irritated look, which she then passed to Nico—in case he had any ideas of getting in her face. For the tenth time that morning, she thought about how much men complicated things. They were always second-guessing, throwing their weight around, and trying like hell to take over.

She just wanted them to ease up and give her a little breathing room.

Mostly, she wished that Azaiel would move the hell back. The Seraphim had stepped closer, to get a look at the map no doubt, but it was much too close for comfort.
Her comfort.

“Step away, people. This is a valuable James family heirloom, and if any of you so much as breathe on it, I’ll give you the worst case of face warts ever.”

Frank and Cedric moved back immediately, and they both looked at the three remaining men as if they were crazy. Cedric tugged on his chin. “Just so you boys know, the last time Miss Rowan spelled a case of face warts, the entire football team was quarantined.” He paused dramatically. “For two whole weeks.”

“Crap, I forgot about that, though it could have been worse,” Hannah agreed. “She was so pissed at the quarterback that I thought for sure she’d make their peckers fall off too.”

Nico, Priest, and Azaiel moved back.

Rowan ignored all of it. Her focus was clear, and she was more than a little anxious to get started.

“Cedric, can I have it?”

Cedric nodded and withdrew a plastic Ziploc bag.

“Hannah, get the candles. They’re in the walk-in pantry, on the last shelf, tucked away near the back. Behind the big blue water jug.” She looked at Cedric. “At least that’s where they used to be.”

“Nothing’s changed, Miss Rowan.” A sad smile crossed his face as he carefully unzipped the plastic bag and grabbed the hairbrush. “Your grandmother was a creature of habit.”

“Good.” A thought crossed her mind, and she turned quickly. “Hannah, don’t forget to—”

“Mother-trucker!”
The shriek was instant, followed by a string of cusswords that weren’t anything like the G-rated version.

“Ask the goddess for permission to enter,” Rowan finished lamely, wincing as she glanced back toward the pantry.

“Is she all right?” Nico asked gruffly.

Rowan turned to Nico in surprise. “She’ll be . . . fine.” The shifter didn’t reply but relaxed against the doorframe. She wasn’t fooled. The jaguar was strung tighter than a yo-yo, and she got the impression that maybe Azaiel wasn’t the only thing making him uncomfortable.

She looked pointedly at Azaiel. “I’m going to need you and Priest for this spell. Without the coven present I need more power. I’ll be tapping into yours if that’s all right.”

Azaiel nodded. “Fine with me.”

Priest agreed as well. “Whatever you need.”

“Good. I promise to be gentle.”

Priest’s eyes darkened. “Don’t be gentle on my account. I like it a little rough.”

“That, I don’t doubt.” She tried to be sarcastic but failed miserably. There was something about the tall man that made her nervous. An edge that was raw and secrets that were painful. How could you be flip with someone like that?

Azaiel remained silent, but she didn’t miss the narrowed eyes or the muscle that flexed across his jaw. She turned quickly, wanting out from under his gaze. He was a whole new can of worms entirely.

She glanced at the shifter. “
You
need to stay the hell out of the way. Understood?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

She ignored Nico’s sarcasm and tried to ignore Azaiel, but he’d moved closer to the table, his brow furled in concentration as he studied the old map. His jeans hung way too low on his hips, the wide belt doing nothing but drawing the eye to the thin brush of hair that shadowed his taut lower belly and disappeared from sight.

Keep your eyes above the neck.

She gave herself a mental shake, and when he bent forward her eyes climbed higher until she settled upon the scars that graced the tops of his shoulders. Even though they looked painful, there was something striking about the way they cloaked Azaiel. The more she studied them, she realized they were not so much a reflection of violence but one of the power within him.

He cleared his throat, and she glanced into his eyes, startled and embarrassed that he’d caught her staring at him like a goofy teenager. All thought fled her mind, leaving only a blank canvas, and she blurted out the first thing that popped into her mind.

“It will take us a few minutes to prepare for the spell, so . . . now would be a good time to throw on some clothes.”

Priest snorted, and though Azaiel’s eyes darkened—the gold much diminished as black bled through—he gave her a look she couldn’t quite read.

“Sorry my state of undress offends, but at the moment, I have nothing to wear.”

She’d insulted him. She saw it in his eyes. “Azaiel, you don’t offend me, really. It’s just, well everyone else is . . .” She gestured toward Priest and Nico. “I just prefer . . .” Oh God, Rowan, shut the hell up and stop babbling. “I prefer you in clothes, that’s all.”

“You’re probably the only female in the county who would,” Hannah said in disbelief.

Rowan ignored her cousin and was thankful when Cedric intervened.

“Come with me.” Cedric nodded. “We’ve got a trunkful of clothes that have been left behind over the years. I’m sure we’ll be able to find you something.”

Azaiel’s eyes lingered for a moment too long, and she looked away, hating the flush that crept up her cheeks. He followed Cedric from the room, and Rowan didn’t know she was holding her breath until it escaped in a rush.

Hannah frowned and held up her hands. “Look at these.” The tips looked raw, and several small blisters were forming.

“Suck it up. That’s what happens when you don’t—”

“Respect the goddess,” Hannah finished. “I know, but sheesh, she doesn’t have to be such a bitch about it.”

Rowan took the candles from Hannah as well as a small dagger that was no longer than the tip of her fingers to the edge of her wrist. The handle was delicate, an antique cream ivory that felt smooth in her hand. The shiny blade was charmed with several intricate etchings that darkened the silver and climbed up the hilt.

They were druid markings and held much power.

She put the dagger down and unwrapped the candles. They’d been stored in a plain beige-linen cloth that unraveled with ease. Carefully, she placed the candles at each corner of the map. They represented the four elements that she commanded and would tap into their power to fuel the spell.

The blue one in the east—water. The red one in the south—fire. The white one the north—air. And the green one to the west—earth.

When she was done, she accepted a bowl from Cedric—one that was older than anyone cared to remember—its clay facade was a faded copper color, with large, dull brown, spidery cracks lining the sides. She carefully set it in the middle of the map next to the dagger and blew out a strained breath.

Sunlight fell in from outside, spilling over the large kitchen table and showering the map in fingers of gold. It looked . . . beautiful. Nervous energy rolled through her body, and she brushed back a strand of hair that stuck to her sweaty neck. Her stomach felt queasy, but she gritted her teeth and tried her best to focus.

She couldn’t screw this up.

“Hey.” Hannah’s warm hand on her shoulder felt like a memory—a wonderful, warm-you-to-your-toes kind of memory. How could she have let the two of them grow apart? She’d given Mallick too much power, and it was going to stop.

“You’ll be fine. Trust me.”

“It’s just been so long.” Rowan tried not to let her fear get the best of her, but the damn doubt weasels were circling fast and hard. “And this is so important.” She bit her lip and shuddered. “If I don’t get to her, Mallick will.” Her eyes widened, and she did her best to stop the hot prick of tears. “I can’t let that happen. I can’t lose my mother. Not after everything I did to keep her safe. Not after Nana.” Her voice broke, and she inhaled a ragged breath, trying hard to calm her out-of-control nerves.

“You won’t.” Azaiel’s low timbre sent shivers rushing across her skin.

Rowan turned in a rush, her hand skimming his taut chest. He was much too close—again—but as she stared up into his fathomless eyes, for one moment of clarity she knew it would work. She saw the power that lived inside him—it was reflected in their depths—and she drew from that. She nodded. “Okay. Let’s do this.”

“What the hell are you wearing?”

They both turned at Hannah’s shocked exclamation, and Rowan followed her cousin’s gaze, for the first time seeing what covered up the broad chest she was so close to.

“It was all that fit,” was Azaiel’s terse reply.

Behind them, Nico guffawed, and Priest snorted.

“It’s . . .” Rowan’s mouth twitched. “It’s very
pink.
”

Azaiel wore a tight-fitting V-neck T-shirt with a jewel-encrusted
HELLO KITTY
logo across the chest. The cloth had a shiny texture to it—spandex maybe—and did more to enhance the six pack he sported than anything else. He looked both ridiculous and hot all at once.

Cedric hid a grin. “I forgot I’d donated everything at the beginning of summer. There were only a few items of children’s clothes and . . . this.”

Azaiel scowled. “Can we get this done? Tick tock and all that.”

“No sense of humor, Seraphim?” Nico gloated.

Rowan turned to the jaguar, her hand raised. “Are we going to go there, Nico?”

The shifter’s grin died slowly, replaced with a scowl that was fierce, and he stepped back, arms crossed over his chest.

Rowan exhaled, her voice barely a whisper as the heaviness of the situation pressed on her. “Let’s do this. Hannah, Priest, come.” She directed them around the table, Azaiel to her left, Priest on her right, and Hannah across from her. Once they were in place she cleared everything from her mind and went to work.

She reached for the bowl, set it before her, and stared down at the dagger as her heart beat hard inside her chest. She was so damn hot.
So damn scared.
A week ago she’d been in Europe, flush with the excitement of her job, of being entrusted with an overseas meeting—and the lights of Paris. She’d had Mason waiting for her at home, Monday night cooking classes, and now . . . now her world was tilted, its axis spinning out of control, and she had no clue if she had what it took to set things right.

Hannah pulled a strand of her mother’s hair from the brush and dropped it into the bowl.

“You can do this Rowan.” Azaiel spoke quietly.

She nodded okay and grabbed the dagger, slicing through her palm without hesitation. The sting was instant and the burn harsh. Sweat broke out on her forehead as she held her hand over the bowl and watched her blood drip downward.

Not a word was spoken.

When enough had fallen, she placed the dagger beside her and wiped off the excess blood with the linen cloth used to store the candles. She touched her finger to the wound in her palm, closed her eyes, concentrated, and recited a healing charm. It was one of the first her mother had taught her—a simple spell used to heal scrapes and bruises.

And it was enough.

Rowan held out her hands, and their small circle was completed. She felt the strength, the well of power that the men on either side of her harnessed, and she saw how Hannah’s eyes widened. She felt it, too.

Blue eyes met as the two women gathered their own strength. Tapped into their wells of power and deep-rooted beliefs. Took from the goddess, whose spirit watched over them all.

The candles erupted in fire, each one burning brightly, as Hannah and Rowan began their spell.

Travel through the sands of time

Find us that which is mine

Allow the sight to reach its goal

Bind to us our long-lost soul

The bowl rose into the air, and Rowan watched it closely, sweat dripping from her brow as she concentrated and held the power still. She couldn’t lie—the thrill she felt as her energy connected with Hannah’s was intoxicating. The conduit of power from Azaiel and Priest electrified her cells in a way she’d never felt before.

For one brief moment as the connection between the four of them solidified, images and emotions assaulted her. It was a heady mixture that left her panting. A cross. Instruments of torture. Fire. Rage. An eagle. Despair.

They were gone as fast as they’d come, but a lingering touch stayed behind—an intrusion inside her head. Rowan gritted her teeth and slammed her mental doors shut—the ones that protected her innermost secrets—and pushed back. Hard.

Someone wanted something from her, but who? Irritated, Rowan easily cleared her mind. She’d deal with it later.

As she and Hannah continued to chant, the bowl turned in the air, slowly to the right four times, then back to the left the same number of turns. It hovered over the map, seeming to drift aimlessly. The weight of that bowl in the air was like a slab of stone pressed against her chest. It seemed to hover forever, but she knew that, in fact, mere minutes had passed.

All eyes were on the bowl as it slowly stopped turning, and the cracks that ran along the circumference liquefied into long, spidery arms of black. Blood seeped through. One single drop slipped out and fell onto the map.

Rowan tugged her hands from the men, grabbed the bowl from the air, and set it beside her. She pushed several strands of hair from her neck, hating how they stuck to her slick, sweaty skin. She was light-headed and jittery, but all was forgotten as she gazed upon the map. Hannah studied it closely as well, her eyes alive with a fever that Rowan knew all too well. Magick was like a drug, and the euphoric feeling that accompanied its use was indescribable.

It had led many a weak witch to an early grave.

Cedric, Frank, and Nico moved in closer, and they all stared down at the table. Rowan’s fingers trembled as she pointed toward the map. “There,” she whispered.