Soulceress (The Mythean Arcana Series Book 2) (26 page)

“Among soulceresses, they did. But I don’t think this is a museum in the traditional sense, where you display artifacts for the public. I think it is a holding place of our most precious cultural objects and art.”

“This isn’t the temple, then.”

“No. But I’d like to look, all the same.” The dim light revealed the wistfulness and sorrow etched on Esha’s face. This was the last evidence of her race. Family and friends of her own kind that she’d never have.

“All right. We won’t get separated in here. I doona have the same problem navigating within the buildings that I do on the outside.”

She nodded and wandered off, her gaze intent upon the tables bearing jewelry, weapons, dishes, and other unidentifiable objects. Warren watched as she reached out now and again to brush her fingertips over shining metal and gleaming, polished wood. The Chairman stuck close to her side, as if he knew she needed the comfort.
 

Warren shook his head and turned away. He wandered as well, his gaze drawn especially to the weapons. One, a long dagger with an artfully decorated hilt, caught his eye. It looked sharp and deadly and reminded him that his sword hadn’t affected the soul shadows. Perhaps only a soulceress weapon would work within the city walls. Feeling slightly guilty but vowing he’d return it when this was all over, he slid the dagger into his boot and turned to find Esha.
 

She stood on the other side of the room, staring at a huge painting on the wall. She shook her head, then turned and walked across the room. He met her near the basement doors, his steps faltering slightly when the familiar surge of Aurora’s sickness weakened his muscles and churned his stomach. Shite. Time for more pills.
 

“Ready to go?” he asked.
 

“Yeah. Let’s keep working our way around the compass until we find the right building.” Her gaze wouldn’t meet his and her voice was distant. She’d been closed off all day, ever since she’d retreated last night.
 

They made it through the basement and out of the building without incident. He popped a pill in his mouth and swallowed it dry, hoping it would work. He couldn’t be weakened when he faced Aurora or he’d never get his soul back. He’d have to live like this, a deteriorating mess of weakened muscles and worthless stomach. And he’d thought not having his soul was bad.

The street was silent once again as they made their way east, though the sun had moved across the sky and was on its way down over the tops of the buildings. Warren kept his gaze glued to Esha’s back.

After a while, he noticed that the mysterious shade was still following them, floating along behind. Esha kept glancing back at it as well, making sure that her eyes never fell upon him.
 

“The building is going to be right around this bend, I’m almost sure of it.” Esha pointed to the curve in the narrow street ahead.

When they rounded the bend, the street once again opened up onto a great square. The city was a bit like Venice, with its windy streets and open squares, but creepier and without the canals. Warren didn’t like it.

“That’s it.” Esha pointed to an ornate building that sat across the square as the museum had. This one was far grander, however, a stone monstrosity accessible by an enormous flight of stairs.

They made their way across the square, and Warren tensed as they neared the stairs, expecting more shadows. When the wave of nausea hit him, he almost stumbled.
 

Nay.
He’d just taken a pill. This shouldn’t be happening. He swallowed hard and forced the nausea down, but it did little good as his muscles trembled.

They reached the base of the stairs and began to climb. When nothing swept out to stop them, the tension in his chest eased slightly. The souls must have been protecting the treasures and had no reason to be here. It took two of them to push open the great wooden door. Damn it, normally he’d have been able to do it alone.
 

“This is it,” Esha whispered.

Again, the space was huge and silent, the windows streaming beams of light onto the brightly colored marble floor. The back of his neck twitched, and he turned around.

A horde of shadows, these darker and more human shaped than the last, hurtled at them up the stairs. He spun around and pushed Esha out of the way, back behind the wall so that she was out of the path of the shadows.
 

“Hide!” he yelled, but before he could turn to fight the shadows, something wrapped around his arms and legs and dragged him out the door. He struggled against the bonds, twisting around to see that shadows had caught him from behind. He strained to reach the dagger but his arms were held tight.

“Warren!” Esha hurtled out of the doorway. She ran down the stairs after him. His fear for her had been for naught. The shadows weren’t attacking her.
 

She shot a blast of power at them, and they released him.
 

Warren crumpled to the ground, then surged to his feet. Before he could get his dagger, they rushed back, reaching for him once again, gripping his arms and legs with iron bands of strength that they shouldn’t possess. From the corner of his eye, he saw the mysterious shade fly forth.

It charged into the group of shadows, scattering them. Esha’s blast of power took care of the rest. In a flash of white light, they were obliterated.
 

“Esha, are you all—” Warren’s knees collapsed out from under him once again, his muscles turned to jelly.
 

“Warren!” Esha fell to her knees by his side. “You’re so white. Are you okay?”

“Pills,” he gasped. “Left pocket.”

“For what? What’s wrong with you?” She scrabbled through his pocket and pulled the pills loose.

“One.”

She pried the cap off and handed him one. He’d just had one an hour ago, damn it. They weren’t fucking working anymore. He blinked up at Esha, who was running her hands over his body, looking for injuries. The sky was darkening behind her head and long shadows stretched across the square.

“We’ve got to get you back to the house,” she said.

With her help, he struggled to his feet. His stomach still lurched like a ship on a rogue wave, but his muscles held long enough for him to stumble back to the house. Rage welled within him at being unable to move, to fight. This wasn’t him, damn it.

It felt like hours had passed by the time they got back. Full dark had fallen, but a wave of Esha’s hand lit the lamps in the entryway. He groaned in relief when he collapsed on the bed.

“What the hell is wrong with you?” Esha asked, her hand pressed to his forehead.

He drew in a ragged breath. “Whenever Aurora uses the power of my soul, it makes me ill. The witches gave me pills to fight it, but they’ve been failing. My body is becoming immune to them.”

“Shit.” Her worried gaze searched his face. “I’m going to the witches. You need more pills.”

“Nay. You canna aetherwalk that far. It’ll drain your power too much.”

Esha stared down at Warren, her heart twisting in the most horrible way. He looked near death. This was what it was like to lose someone. It was everything she’d been afraid of. He shouldn’t be mortal, but his body was giving out like one.

“I don’t care,” she said. “You need something to make you better. I can fuel up on power when I’m with the witches. Aetherwalking back will drain it more than if I came back the slow way, but I’ll still have enough. There’s no other option.”

She yanked the covers up over him and said a brief prayer to whatever magic had kept this room in pristine condition since it had been abandoned so long ago. “Can I get you anything before I go?”

“Nay. Doona go.”

“I don’t see how you think I have a choice.” She called the Chairman to her. When he pressed up against her leg, they disappeared.

It was dark and moonless on the university campus when they appeared and Esha prayed that all the witches would be together when she knocked on the cottage door. Not that she wanted to see them, but she needed a hell of a lot of power to make up for aetherwalking that distance.

She was in luck. There were at least twenty in the small cottage when the door swung open at her knock. She breathed a sigh of relief as their power flowed into her. The marmot witch stood on the other side, hand on the doorknob and frowning, as if she were the designated witchy butler.

“Warren’s sick. Your pills aren’t working. We need something else,” Esha said.

“You don’t have to be so bitchy,” marmot witch said.

“He’s sick. Really, really sick. I’m being urgent, not bitchy.”

The witch huffed. “I can see that you’re just scared for him, so I’ll cut you some slack. And I like him. But there’s nothing else safe that we can give him.”

“He’s so sick he can barely move,” Esha said. “And I don’t think he’s going to get any better. We’re desperate.”

Marmot witch frowned, her eyes dark with worry. Unconsciously, she reached up to stroke the fat brown rodent who rode on her shoulder. Esha recognized the act as something she did with the Chairman and scowled at the similarities between them.

“Come on, I’m begging you,” Esha said. Which was crazy, because she hated these witches. But she couldn’t bear to see Warren so sick.
 

Marmot witch turned and joined two other witches in a corner. Esha couldn’t stop her feet from tapping as she waited. They conferred in hushed whispers and after approximately a century, marmot witch went to a tall armoire and pulled out a tiny emerald glass bottle.
 

“Here.” She thrust it at Esha, scowling. “That’s
elictum erarus.
He’ll feel no pain as long as he takes that. One drop of liquid per day, right on the tongue. No more, or he’s dead as a squashed toad. But it will only last for five days, maybe four, before he’s immune to it too. Then he’ll be left in even worse straits than he is now.”

“Worse?”

“Much. So get his damned soul back.”

Esha nodded. “Thanks. Really.”

Marmot witch shrugged. Desperate to get back to Warren, Esha didn’t even bother to leave the front stoop before she aetherwalked. Upon arrival, a quick survey of her power supply felt like she was already down to half. Damn, that was a long way.
 

She ran up the stairs to Warren, who was sitting up but still white as a sheet. Her heart slowed its frantic, worried beat when she saw him alive. Gods, had she really been afraid he’d die on her like Brian had? Of course he wouldn’t. He was a Mythean.

“Here. The witches gave me this.” She held out the glass bottle. “One drop per day. Five days. Maybe four. Then you’re worse off than you are now.”

“Damn.” He held out a hand for the bottle, but it shook so badly that she pushed it down.

“Let me.” She sat next to him on the bed, and he tilted his head back and opened his mouth. She focused hard on squeezing the dropper the slightest bit. One drop of silver fluid fell onto his tongue. She tightened the cap on the bottle and looked up. His color had returned abruptly and his eyes had brightened.
 

“Bloody hell, I feel amazing,” he said. He stood and flexed his arms, and her eyes shot to the muscles that bunched beneath the fabric of his shirt. “I feel completely normal. That’s serious medicine.”

“Not medicine. Magic. Strong magic.”

“Well, it’s fucking awesome.”

His vitality was such a contrast his former pallor that it reminded her all the more of how sick he’d been. How sick he could become again.
 

She panicked. Obviously this was only going to end terribly. She spun on her heel and walked out of the room, saying over her shoulder, “I’m glad you’re better. I’ll see you later.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

An invisible hand tightened on Warren’s throat as Esha walked out, so there was nothing to do but follow her. Light spilled out of the room that she’d claimed as her own, dim enough that it was likely torchlight.

He stepped up to the cracked door and knocked, though he didn’t wait for an answer before he pushed it open. Esha whirled from where she stood near the tall glass window.
 

“Is anything wrong?” she asked.