Snakeroot (6 page)

“Can’t we do this closer to the house?” Audrey complained, twigs snapping under her boots as they trudged through the woods. “It’s freezing out here, and the farther we walk, the longer it’s going to take to get back.”

“We’re going to try to open a channel between our world and an alternate dimension,” Chase scoffed at his sister. “Do you really want to see our house get sucked into an evil vortex?”

Audrey’s eyes widened, then she glared at Logan. “You never said that could happen.”

Chase laughed and Logan shot Audrey a derisive glance. “It can’t. Chase is just winding you up.”

Logan squared his shoulders and pressed on through the tangle of brush and leafless trees. Truthfully, he didn’t know what unintended, possibly disastrous consequences could result if the spell the trio planned to cast proved successful. The young Keepers could claim no experience with the type of magic they were about to delve into.

Chase, Audrey, and Logan each had some familiarity with Nether magic, but the spells they’d used in their lives had been easy. They’d been taught at a young age to summon lesser Nether minions: imps, gargoyles, pixies, and as the Keepers grew older, incubi and succubi. The summoning and command of wraiths came later, only after one could demonstrate enough willpower to keep a wraith in check. Chase and Audrey confessed that they’d made games out of pitting various smaller creatures against one another in combat. Logan was relieved they’d had enough sense never to try such a foolish thing with wraiths.

There were other spells. Silly things that amounted to little more than parlor tricks: glamours and memory charms. Audrey, of course, had full command of this superficial magic. Logan wished she’d cared more about harnessing the power of the Nether than guaranteeing her hair maintained a diamond-like sheen.

But Logan knew all of their power, great and slight, derived from a single source: the Nether itself. The small damage they could do as petty warlocks was nothing without unlocking the gate to that ultimate darkness. And access to the Nether had been offered to the Keepers in exchange for their oath of fealty to Bosque Mar. When that fool Shay Doran had banished Bosque and sealed the Rift at Rowan Estate, the well of magic Logan and his peers had always taken for granted was suddenly dry.

Magic itself, however, remained in the world and what Logan deemed the best course required old-school spellwork. Once he’d gotten Chase and Audrey on board, his research time had doubled. It should have tripled but for the fact that Audrey spent half her “research” time complaining or offering disgusted commentary on the spells’ ingredients.

Logan didn’t disagree with Audrey’s reticence when it came to the grit and grime of real spellwork, but his impatience made him quickly irritable toward her. He was fairly certain she’d come around with time, just as Logan himself had.

Chase, for his part, was making much more of an effort toward bringing his skills in line with Logan’s. The two boys had taken to staying awake into the early morning hours, poring over books of shadow and the “traditional” occult codices that warlocks and witches relied upon to draw the dark before Eira had made the first blood pact with Bosque Mar.

And with each spell cast, their power grew and their knowledge increased. Even without the abilities they’d once taken for granted, Logan and Chase were on the verge of working magic that could do serious harm. But that was small comfort in the face of what lay ahead.

Since the closing of the Rift, Logan had spent many hours retracing his steps, reexamining his choice, and had come to the conclusion that he’d been a bloody fool. He’d viewed his life, the war, the Searchers, and especially Bosque through a narrow lens of the present when he should have taken a long view.

Wealth and influence, which the surviving Keepers still had, were well and good, but Logan knew that, having been cut off from the Nether, those aspects of his life had been placed in jeopardy as well. Without Bosque, the Keepers were no more than socialites with ties to old money . . . very old money. They were no better than the politicians and financiers they’d become accustomed to commanding.

It was only a matter of time until someone challenged the Keepers’ stranglehold on one thing or another. A new player would inevitably appear, someone who didn’t believe the rumors of the strange and explicable demises met by those who’d thwarted Keeper wishes in the past. And when that fresh challenge came, the Keepers’ bluff would be called. No wraith could be summoned to torment the impudent. No Guardian could be ordered to maim for the sake of making an example.

And it would all be over.

That realization made Logan willing to head into the Long Island woods in the middle of a moonless winter night.

“Here.” Logan stopped, surveying the small break in the trees. He looked up at the ink-dark sky, speckled with only a few stars. “This should work.”

“Finally.” Audrey dropped her pack onto the ground, shivering.

Annoyed, Logan told her, “Unpack the supplies.”

Audrey gave him the finger, but she knelt beside the pack and did as Logan said.

“What should I do?” Chase asked.

“You can set up the altar.” Logan jerked his chin toward Audrey. “The stones are in her pack.”

Chase laughed. “You made her carry a bag full of stones?”

“There are only three stones,” Logan answered, too tense to share in Chase’s mirth. “One for each of us. Put them in the center of the clearing.”

Logan didn’t move to assist them, but not because he deemed the work beneath him. Far from it. Logan’s days of entitlement were behind him. He knew, however, that young Keepers like Chase and Audrey had long been accustomed to hierarchies. Democracy, discussion, collaboration, consensus: all were viewed by his kind at best as weak, at worst as deadly. If Logan wanted to pull off his new scheme, he could show no doubt and had to take command of his peers.

“Audrey, put the contents of the pouches and vials into the mortar and pestle and grind them into a paste. Then use the paste to draw a circle around the stones, but draw it counterclockwise. That’s pivotal.”

Audrey sighed, but began emptying dried herbs—and dried things that were much less pleasant than herbs—into the stone mortar. When she uncorked the first vial, she gagged.

“Oh my God, Logan,” Audrey choked. “What is this?”

“You don’t want to know,” Logan answered. In truth he didn’t know what substance had turned Audrey’s stomach. It was too dark to see what vial she’d opened, but given that it could be bile, asp venom, or the crushed eyeballs of a raven, Logan figured Audrey was better left ignorant. If she vomited into the mixture, the whole spell would be ruined . . . or possibly enhanced, but Logan couldn’t be sure.

Chase returned to Logan’s side.

“There’s a jug of water,” Logan said, pointing to the earthen container—thinking to himself that magic was tediously rustic; just once it would have been a refreshing change to see a spell call for a rare vintage bottle of wine decanted through artisanal Italian glass. That sort of thing would have been a snap for Logan to procure.

When Chase picked up the jug, Logan said, “Go pour it over the stones. A continuous stream until the jug is empty, no pauses or breaks.”

“You’ve got to be kidding me.” Audrey turned her face away from another vial she’d opened. “This is so gross.”

Logan was glad the darkness hid his expressions; it was too much fun watching Audrey squirm not to smile.

She turned to look at Logan. “It’s ready. What do I paint the circle with?”

“Your hand,” Logan said, struggling not to laugh.

“I. Hate. You.” Audrey joined her brother at the stones.

Logan called after her, “Don’t forget. Counterclockwise.”

On her hands and knees, Audrey painted the circle around the cluster of stones. When she finished, she threw a withering look at Logan.

“It’s done. Can I at least wipe my hand off on the ground?”

Logan was tempted to say no, but he didn’t want to push Audrey to the point where she’d tell him to screw himself and refuse to help. “Go ahead.”

“You could just lick it off,” Chase offered.

“Go to hell.”

After Audrey had spent a vigorous five minutes rubbing her fingers against the decaying leaves that littered the forest floor, Logan deemed them ready.

“We’ve been over this,” he said. “Take your places. Once I begin the incantation, there can be no interruptions.”

From within his coat, Logan withdrew a dagger.

Audrey made a small, frightened sound.

“You knew this would be part of the spell, Audrey,” Logan said.

“I know.” Audrey’s lower lip formed a pout. “But . . .”

“Ugh.” Chase cuffed her shoulder. “Don’t be such a wimp. It won’t be that bad.”

“I don’t care about the pain or the blood.” Audrey frowned at her brother.

“Then what’s the problem?” Chase asked.

Audrey turned a plaintive gaze on Logan. “It’s going to leave a scar.”

“So?” Logan’s brow furrowed.

“I’ve never had a scar,” Audrey replied. “If I so much as skinned my knee, I’d have Guardian blood to heal the wound. My skin is perfect.”

“I’m sure the forces of darkness will doubly appreciate your sacrifice, then,” Logan said drily. “Now can we get on with this?”

“But—” Audrey held her hands up, gazing at her smooth, pale skin.

“Keep in mind that if we don’t cast this spell, those hands of yours will be full of bulging blue veins and wrinkles in a matter of years,” Chase added, throwing Logan a wink.

“Fine.”

Each of the three would-be supplicants stepped into the circle to stand before a stone. Logan took Chase’s hand, turned it over, and carved a triangle into his palm with the dagger. He handed the blade to Chase, who in turn cut the same shape into his sister’s palm. Audrey winced but remained silent as she’d been bidden. And she didn’t try to make her own slices into Logan’s palm overly slow or deep. Her hand shook as she drew the sharp point of the dagger along his flesh, and Logan realized how frightened she was.

Taking the dagger from Audrey’s trembling grasp, Logan gave a quick nod and all three of them held their hands, palms facing down, over the wet stones. Their blood mingled with the water from the jug, and Logan began to speak.

“We three supplicants offer our blood on this blind night. Hear our call and let us see beyond this plane. Open beyond and below that we may gain passage to the other, to the Nether.”

Logan could barely hear his words due to the roar of blood in his ears. On either side of him, Audrey and Chase were breathing hard, and Logan knew they must be feeling what he was. Power, thick and heavy, like a python curling its way up his calves, constricting as it moved. The force of it made Logan want to fall to his knees, but he did not dare lose control.

Silence covered the forest around them. No birds stirred in the branches. No breath of wind turned leaves over to rustle against the ground.

Then, a sound. Low and steady. Menacing.

A snarl.

“Holy shit.” Chase stumbled back, and for a moment, Logan was terrified Chase would step beyond the circle and break the spell. But Chase recovered his balance even as he stared in horror at the shape that had formed from the forest’s shadows and now stalked toward them.

“Logan,” Audrey breathed in horror. “What did you do?”

“It’s all right, Audrey,” Logan said, though he was far from sure that was true. He clasped his hands behind his back, afraid that if he didn’t they’d begin to shake uncontrollably.

The wolf drew near. It was still snarling but didn’t move to attack. The beast’s dark fur shimmered with silver, and as it came closer, Logan saw that its body, though clearly outlined, was partly transparent. The wolf was both there and not there. Then Logan’s chest clenched.

No. It couldn’t be.

Even as his mind rejected the possibility, the wolf shifted forms. A tall, lean figure gazed at Logan with dark, accusing eyes.

Logan cleared his throat and said the only words that came to mind. “Hello, Renier. I wasn’t expecting you.”

Ren’s smile made Logan shiver. “That makes two of us.”

THOUGH NOT A HARD
and fast rule, Adne knew that weaving for her own purposes, and doing so in secret, ran counter to Searcher protocol. She’d never been that reluctant about rule-bending, and sometimes rule-breaking, as she deemed it necessary, but tonight guilt gnawed at her when she began to weave.

Threads of light spooled out from Adne’s skeins as she moved, and in a matter of minutes a pattern emerged, then an image. A room full of shelves and boxes.

The Tordis Scribes had declared it foolhardy to relocate Rowan Estate’s collection of books, scrolls, and assorted strange occult objects to the Roving Academy. Someone had suggested that it might be possible that one or more of said items could emit magic akin to a beacon, magic that could be traced. While the Searchers widely believed that the remaining Keepers had been cut off from their magical ties, no one wanted to risk revealing the location of the Searcher stronghold.

Thus one of Rowan Estate’s drawing rooms had been repurposed as a storage and research area. Scribes came and went from the room, cataloging works and marking them according to subject and relative urgency: what needed to be studied without delay and what could be put aside until more immediate concerns had been addressed.