The Soother (22 page)

Eron angled his head at Riona. “Let that serve as a warning to everyone,” Eron said, eyes on his queen while addressing the group. “Riona doesn’t tolerate disrespect. She is the
only
female worthy of your admiration.” Then he turned away from Riona and winked at Calliope with a perverted gleam in his eye.

The bile refused to stay down this time. Acid seared Calliope’s throat. She nearly choked on it. She dragged deep breaths through her nose and prayed Riona would lift that damn silencing spell soon. One more creepy look from Eron and Calliope would probably suffocate on her own vomit.

Silence ensued. Not even the sound of nature could be heard. No wind between the trees. No bubbling brooks. No insects or animals scurrying around. Nothing. To Calliope, it seemed as if death had come to her mountain. She’d never look at it the same way again. The lush landscape had become as dark and tainted as Riona. Come dawn, she felt certain even the sun’s light wouldn’t be able to abolish the menacing shadows.

As one organized unit, the chastised horde marched down the mountain. Left, right, left, right. Even the fae’s wings fluttered up and down in unison, their shadows swirling around Calliope like a swarm of angry bees. She ignored them. Krystoff’s shadows were the only ones that intrigued her. These persistent ones were nothing but a distracting nuisance.

Calliope wriggled but couldn’t get comfortable. With a sigh, she sat back on her heels and settled in for the trip, hoping her coven was still safe near the peak. With each second that passed, she knew the witches grew stronger. They’d been weakened, but had found the inner strength they needed to push on, to conquer the demons that had destroyed and taken from them. Krystoff had initiated the training, but each witch had dug in, proving to him — and more importantly, themselves — that they would stand up and protect what belonged to them. Protect their magick at any cost. They’d all grown slack and complacent in recent years, way too comfortable in the confines of their peaceful village, Calliope included. She hadn’t thought the coven was invincible. That wasn’t it, at all. The village had been safe for so long that danger had become a word they referenced when speaking of other places, other realms. Not theirs, she thought with a muted sigh.

Calliope tried again to reach her mother, but she was too tired and a mental connection was impossible. She’d just hold tight to hope that Isabelle had made it back to the other witches and delivered her message. And maybe, just maybe, Ambra had heard Calliope’s warning and had moved everyone to safer ground. No doubt there were other Mistropans milling around, ready to inflict more terror and destruction.

Eventually, the trees thinned. Through her shadow-hazed vision, Calliope saw the charred remains of her village. Smoke still rose from the ground like a demonic fog. She quickly scanned what was left of the structures. No life stirred. Lackluster remnants of the Lammas celebration brought tears to her eyes. Strewn across the ground were the once-colorful banners. They now looked like evil confetti instead of cheerful flags. The lanterns that had illuminated the streets were in twisted piles, broken and forever dimmed. If home was where the heart was, this was no longer the place.

Calliope narrowed her eyes. Anger and resentment gnawed at her gut like she’d swallowed a pond full of piranhas. Riona was the immediate problem, but destruction was brewing in all the realms. How much longer could the lights shine before darkness snuffed them all out? Meera, along with Calliope, Bevva, Carrine, and a quartet of guardians had recently fought darkness and prevailed, though that was only one small victory. As the Luminary, Meera had her work cut out for her trying to keep peace amongst so much strife. Calliope vowed to continue to do her part. She had to help those she could. Her thoughts drifted easily to Krystoff. He was never far from the forefront of her mind. Would he help, too? Her heart answered with an affirmative thump.

Calliope twisted until her wrist rubbed up against the heel of her boot. She slowly moved back and forth, pushing all her weight onto her wrist. She’d rub until her wrist was raw, saw until it bled. Then she would keep rubbing and sawing until Riona or one of her stupid cronies discovered what she was doing. Or until her crimson version of a breadcrumb trail led help directly to her.

Calliope was glad when the village was behind them. She’d thought her coven should rebuild. Now she wondered if they’d be better off completely relocating. They’d have to vote on it, but she had a feeling most would feel as she did. Calliope closed her eyes and wished it all away. They couldn’t vote if they didn’t survive, could they?
No
. She refused to go there. Death may have come to the land, but it wouldn’t kill her coven’s spirit. Witches were strong and determined. Witches evolved and triumphed. This time would be no different.

Calliope spotted a shimmering portal in the distance. She had no idea where it led, only knew it would take them farther away from her village and even farther from her fellow witches and Krystoff. Her heart sank. Portals hadn’t entered into her plan. How would anyone find her blood trail now?

• • •

The journey to Mistropa didn’t take as long as Calliope had expected. They were close now. The gloom penetrated the atmosphere around her, settling on her skin like a wet blanket. Riona either had the network of ever-moving portals memorized or she had them under her control. It was more than likely the latter, considering each portal had opened immediately and not closed again until the last Mistropan of Riona’s shadowed horde had climbed through. This information didn’t bode well for Calliope’s future as it showed just how powerful Riona really was. Calliope could only assume Riona was completely consumed by shadows. Madness echoed in the ear-splitting laughter she constantly belted out for no apparent reason. If Calliope’s mouth weren’t sealed shut, she’d tell Riona to stuff the hysteria and save it for the afterlife. Only the devil himself would appreciate a sound that obnoxious.

The painstaking mental process of cracking through the magickal binds Riona had put in place was starting to pay off. Calliope triumphantly tucked each delicate strand of power away, preparing for the inevitable fight. Each time she freed a thread of her core magick, comforting warmth pulsed through her body. She just hoped she had the time to gather enough of her magick to make an impact. If not, she was totally screwed.

She had so much to live for. Ambra was alert and coherent. Meera had promised to visit soon. How could Calliope miss that reunion? She couldn’t. Wouldn’t. Plus, she had to find Bevva and Carrine. Both of them were out there somewhere and Calliope wouldn’t rest until she saw them again … safe and sound. Then there was Isabelle. She needed mentoring and Calliope had promised to do that. She didn’t break promises. Ever.

Krystoff
.

Being with him had turned her inside out and back again. She wanted more time to get to know him. A lifetime would never be enough.

Krystoff may or may not come for her. She had no way of knowing if he’d find the trail she’d left him now that they’d portal-hopped at least a dozen times. And what if he didn’t feel the same way about her as she felt about him? It wasn’t as if they’d proclaimed their undying love for one another. Not yet. Calliope swore to rectify that problem as soon as she could. Even if Krystoff never found his soul, she wouldn’t care. She’d soothe his shadows into submission if she had to. Anything to keep him from being consumed by the darkness and going all bat-crazy evil like his mother. He was crazy enough without the shadows taking over his mind and spirit.

When this was over — and it
would
be over — she’d ask Krystoff to help her find Bevva and Carrine. Then they’d recruit Meera and anyone else she could convince to help. Her coven could be very formidable when they needed to be. That time had come. After all this, she had no doubt they would be ready to fight. Together, they’d all do their part to settle the unrest within the realms. Calliope had Isabelle and the other young witches to think of, not to mention the children of all beings. Violence would never end, she knew that and understood it. Wars had been fought since the beginning of time. But it was getting worse. Much worse. The scales were being tipped too far to one side. Without the proper balance, they were all doomed. What would water be without fire? Earth without air? Man without woman?

If every light being stood by idly and allowed evil to fester and infiltrate, the children had no hope of growing up — no hope at all.

Calliope lifted her head. Sodden moss hung overhead with beads of moisture collecting on the ends, constantly dripping into the murky puddles below. Too bad Riona hadn’t sealed Calliope’s nose shut, too. The stench in Mistropa was nauseating. Yet, even with all the shadows and darkness, Calliope felt surprisingly strong. And more than a little optimistic. Last time she had been in Mistropa, she’d nearly toppled over from the oppressing weight of depression and doubt. But she hadn’t. Not even in the midst of all of Mistropan’s shadows. She’d fought through her weakness and she’d met Krystoff. So, yeah, even in this pit of a realm the soother in her saw a silver lining, saw potential to turn the land into something more. Something better.

All she needed to do was overthrow the queen.

Krystoff stepped across the creaking threshold, squinted into the obtrusive light and tugged his collar up around his neck as the bells announcing their arrival jingled overhead. Sunlight streamed in through a wall of windows and illuminated the rustic furniture in the room. Wooden tables, scarred chairs and a large stone fireplace adorned with hanging star ornaments took up every available inch in the cramped space.
Stars
. Lucky him. Just another reminder of how he’d done Calliope wrong.

There’d been reminders of her everywhere Scout had taken him. They’d passed a pool of water and Krystoff had envisioned Calliope stripped and bare, wading in the shallow depths, clear water sliding over her body like a lover’s caress. Like
his
caress. Then there were the candles he’d spotted in someone’s window. He remembered the way candlelight had danced erotically along her glistening skin, highlighting each and every one of his favorite spots. A pair of boots? All he could think about was how fierce she was, and how one kick of her combat boots could bring a man to his knees. And now the stars. He couldn’t get the addictive witch out of his mind.

So far, they’d been in at least five realms with Scout insisting each one was bringing them closer.
Closer to what?
Krystoff had wondered that thought aloud more than once. Not that he’d received a worthy answer for his efforts. Not that he’d received any answer at all for that matter. Scout was one silent, brooding ass. Krystoff should have turned around and gone back — had thought about it constantly — wasn’t sure why he hadn’t yet. Except for the fact that he wouldn’t be able to stand it if Calliope looked at him with anything close to hatred in her eyes. She would be his ultimate undoing. He sure as hell was already unraveled enough, like a ball of string being batted around by a lioness.

He’d stick it out for a while longer. A very short while. So far, he’d spent much of his time quietly studying Scout, learning as much as he could about the nomas. Krystoff had thought he could flash fast — what with using blood magick and all, but nothing compared to the split second disappearing acts Scout continued to pull. He’d done it over and over again, each time smacking Krystoff on the back and effortlessly dragging him somewhere else. No sensation of movement. No time passing. Just an immediate and new destination. If they were ever on speaking terms again, he’d consider asking Scout for a few tricks of the trade. Either that or he’d examine the process from every angle and figure it out for himself. Just as he’d always done.

The sign dangling precariously outside what he hesitated to call anything more than a hovel had indicated Hannah’s Place was an eatery of some sort. The lack of patrons made Krystoff think the place was either closed for business or the food unfit to eat.

Scout shoved him forward. Krystoff stumbled, slammed his hip into a table.

“Damn it, Scout.” Fed up, he turned to leave and purposely banged his shoulder against Scout’s in retaliation. Scout didn’t budge. The haunting notes of a lone violin filtered in through an open door on the left. Krystoff turned, straining to hear each note. The song, so full of sorrow and longing, as if the musician could see inside Krystoff’s heart, was painful to listen to. Still, he wanted to hear more. “Where are we?”

“What?” Scout shrugged, scanned the small room like a hawk surveying the land. “You can’t read? Sign says Hannah’s Place. I’m hungry and it smells good in here.” Scout lifted his chin, breathed long and deep, then nodded his head in self-affirmation.

The place could smell like the transfusion ward in a hospital and Krystoff wouldn’t give a rat’s ass. Two days of being led around by the balls. Two wasted days and he had nothing to show for it, but a headache the size of Manhattan and a hole in his heart the size of hell. Being away from Calliope was killing him. He’d take another gutting from Eron over the agonizing ache torturing him now. He’d wanted a solitary life. All that had changed. Now Krystoff wanted a life with Calliope.

“You’re hungry?” Krystoff questioned, weariness creeping into his voice. He hadn’t slept in days. At this point, three measly hours would do him a world of good. “Bully for you,” he continued. “I don’t have time for this.”

Hunger was nothing compared to what Krystoff was feeling. His gut burned like fire ants had taken up residence, and the prickles needling his neck were akin to the work of an acupuncturist hell bent on torture. Both were the not-so-subtle signals of impending doom. He’d felt it before, knew the indicators well.

Scout made a show of checking his non-existent watch. “Make time. We have some things to discuss.”

“And we couldn’t have discussed these
things
anytime within the last forty-eight hours? What gives, man? You don’t know where my soul is, do you?” Krystoff demanded. Truth was, he figured even if Scout had his soul stuffed in his back pocket, he wasn’t about to give it back.