Ward Against Darkness (Chronicles of a Reluctant Necromancer) (21 page)

Chapter Twenty-nine

Ward glanced at the door. Surely, enough time had passed. He only needed five minutes. Except Ward had no clue how long Macerio had been talking about the finer points of creating a vesperitti. It could have been five hours. All he knew was his insides squirmed with the need to flee. He couldn’t keep up the act much longer.

“Am I boring you?” Macerio asked, his voice dark.

“No. I, ah—” Ward jerked his attention back to Macerio. He couldn’t say he was tired, and he couldn’t mention Celia.

His muscles trembling from Macerio’s magical control, Val still held Quirin, and Quirin’s stunned expression had turned to rage. The apprentice-hopeful-turned-vesperitti now realized he was Ward’s pet and a slave to Ward’s will.

“I’m so honored. It’s all so overwhelming.” Goddess above, now he was turning into a sappy noblewoman.

Macerio’s expression didn’t change.

“I mean…the power, it’s so—” How did Grandfather describe the lure? Dangerous, evil, dark…seductive. “There aren’t words.” Dark Son’s curses, he had to get out of there.

“Tomorrow, your real education will begin.”

Was this a dismissal? Please, command him to recuperate in his room or something.

“We must celebrate.” Macerio flicked his hand, and Val released Quirin. “Pick a guest for your breakfast and join me in the parlor.”

Val gave a curt nod and strode from the room. Quirin glared at them, his hands curled into fists.

“Bring your new pet.” Macerio turned his back, and Quirin lunged at him. He threw a punch at Macerio’s head, but the Innecroestri stepped to the side, his movement fluid as if he merely danced. The punch flew past Macerio’s ear. He grabbed Quirin’s wrist and hissed a word Ward couldn’t quite make out.

Quirin trembled. His other hand, drawn back to punch, remained frozen at his side. Macerio turned, still clutching Quirin’s fist. “Lyla did pick well. Great magical potential in his soul, and he is ferocious. Once you break his will, he’ll be a magnificent pet.”

“Yes.”
No!
Ward bobbed his head. As soon as he got Quirin alone, he’d remove whatever he’d cast on him. His throat constricted. He had to kill him again. “I should probably have a moment with him…alone.”

“Your will already controls him. You just have to concentrate. Now you know how to deal with him, let’s celebrate in the parlor.”

Ward glanced at the door. “I’d like to have a moment to introduce him to the rest of the family.”

“We’re all family now.”

Ward’s pulse raced. “Celia gets jealous.”

“I’m sure she does.” Still holding Quirin under his control, Macerio turned to the tangle by the door. The vesperitti, covered in blood, lounged around Rodas’s corpse, sprawled in each other’s arms. They were caught in the rapture of the blood magic lure. More detail than Ward wanted to know.

“Where is she?”

Ward’s heart skipped a beat. He feared it would stop altogether. “She, ah— She likes to dine in private.”

Macerio chuckled. “I’m sure that’ll change.”

“So a moment with my new pet, and I’ll join you in the parlor.” It was a risk to press the matter, but it was the best excuse he could come up with.

“Don’t keep me waiting.” Macerio released Quirin’s wrist, and the newly made vesperitti staggered.

“I won’t.”

Macerio sauntered out of the room, his vesperitti following. Something moved at the corner of Ward’s eye, and he spun to face it.

Quirin lunged at Ward, his fist flying toward Ward’s face.

Celia bolted around a corner. Dead end. Damn. Allette quivered beside her, the spell book clutched to her chest.

“Come out and play,” Lyla called in a singsong voice somewhere to Celia’s left.

“Come on.” Celia grabbed Allette’s wrist and urged her back to their last turn.

“We’ll have such fun together.” Lyla’s voice danced through the darkness.

Was she to Celia’s right now?

Or still to the left?

Celia couldn’t tell. She squeezed her stolen spell book. Fighting with one hand wasn’t a great option, but she couldn’t afford to put the book down. Fighting a vesperitti was an even worse idea. Her best hope was to sneak from the room.

“Allette,” Lyla called.

Behind them.

The passage ended at a T. Left or right? Right or left?

“You’re making this too entertaining. Run some more for me, rabbit.”

Allette whimpered, her breath coming in sharp pants.

Celia dragged her to the right. They rushed down the row. Where was that damned door? She turned another corner and stumbled to a halt before running into a wall of books. There had to be a better way to get out of the library than rushing blindly through the maze of shelves. Top of the shelves worked better, but she’d be visible to Lyla. She spun, and the wall of books beside her exploded.

Leaping back, Celia shielded her face with Macerio’s spell book. The shelf crashed to the floor with a
boom
. Dust flew into the air. Lyla stood on top of the toppled pile, a wicked smile curling her lips.

“And here I thought there was just one rabbit to play with.” She lunged at Allette, grabbing the front of her dress and tossing her into the shelves. She hit with a crunch. Books tumbled onto her, and she sagged to the floor.

Lyla turned to Celia.

Celia drew the silver knife from the sheath in her bodice and lengthened her stance. Lyla rushed at her, fast—so fast. She ducked the woman’s grasp, slicing down.

Flesh sizzled, and the scent of burned skin filled the air. Lyla screamed and clutched her arm. With a hiss, she leapt at Celia again. Blood trailed down Lyla’s arm, but the cut was already sealing shut.

Celia swung again. Lyla took the blade in the shoulder. More smoke and sizzling flesh, but it didn’t stop her. She grabbed Celia’s arm and wrenched it to the side. Celia’s fingers went numb, and she dropped Macerio’s spell book.

She jabbed at Lyla again with the knife, aiming for the heart. Lyla blocked it with her free arm. It cut to the bone but didn’t slow her down. She yanked Celia close, grabbed her knife hand and her throat, and lifted Celia off her feet with her unnatural vesperitti strength.

“Your master has a new pet. I’m sure he won’t miss you.”

“You so sure about that?” Movement at the corner of Celia’s eye grabbed her attention.

Allette scrambled from the pile of books and away down the hall. Shit. Whatever advantage they had as a pair was lost.

Lyla chuckled. “It doesn’t really matter. I caught you with my master’s grimoire. Your little Innecroestri won’t be around for much longer, even if he’s a ruined de’Ath now.” Her dark smile grew. “Maybe I’ll ask Macerio for him. He’ll make a nice toy.”

The thought chilled Celia. There was no way this bitch was getting her hands on Ward.

She heaved herself around and kicked at Lyla’s head. The woman stumbled back, letting go of Celia’s neck. With a twist, Celia wrenched her wrist free and slashed at Lyla’s face.

Lyla stumbled back. Celia grabbed Macerio’s spell book and jumped at the shelf behind her. It teetered. She scrambled to the top and shoved it down on top of Lyla.

Without looking back, Celia raced down the aisle and around the first corner. She couldn’t win a face-to-face fight with Lyla. The silver knife cut her but didn’t slow her down. Any other strike, unless it was to the heart, would be just as useless. And that would require the element of surprise.

Celia bolted through the library. She just needed distance, a moment to catch her breath, then she’d do the hunting. She paused in a three-way intersection by a large urn on a pedestal. Something tapped behind her. She glanced down the other aisles. Nothing.

The tap came again, along with a soft rattle of metal against wood. It was behind her. Must be in the aisle on the other side of the shelves.

She leaned closer. Movement flickered between two books, and Celia pulled one out, revealing a crack in the bookcase. On the other side, at the end of a long aisle, Allette stood at the door. She yanked the latch. It rattled again—louder this time—then snapped, the sound bright in the heavy quiet. She threw open the door and dashed out, leaving Celia to face Lyla.

Perhaps Allette thought Lyla would follow her.

Celia doubted that. It was each vesperitti for herself.

The shelf beside Celia crashed with a
boom
. She rolled out of the way. Books showered her. Lyla flew toward her, her hands curled into claws, her face hideously contorted, revealing the monster that she was.

Chapter Thirty

Ward stumbled back, his hip hitting the worktable, and Quirin’s swing whooshed inches from his face.

“Think you can make me your pet?” Quirin hissed. “You’re nothing. You’re powerless. You’re—”

Ward jerked to the side. Quirin’s fist slammed into the table.

This was not going as planned. Not that he had one, but scrambling across the room trying to survive wasn’t on the list.

With a growl, Quirin grabbed for Ward who ducked, crawling under the table. Quirin slid over the table, and Ward scrambled back the other way. He needed to make Quirin see reason. Now, that was stupid. The man was foaming-at-the-mouth mad. He knew exactly what it meant to be a vesperitti.

No, Ward needed to control Quirin, at least until he could end the spell on him. How did it happen that he had to kill this man twice?

Quirin shoved the table aside, his rage making him stronger than his average build implied. The table screeched against the floor.

Macerio used the soul chain…somehow.

“I’ll kill you. I swear to the Dark Son, I will kill you.” Quirin lunged. Ward wobbled out of the way but wasn’t fast enough. Quirin’s fist slammed into Ward’s shoulder. Pain shot across his chest, and he staggered back. He tried to imagine the soul chain.

Quirin struck again, his fist pounding into Ward’s gut.

His breath exploded from his lungs, and his knees buckled. He couldn’t bring anything, let alone the chain, to mind.

Quirin grabbed the back of Ward’s shirt and tossed him across the room. His chin slammed into the floor, sending lights dancing across his vision.

He needed help. His concentration wasn’t enough. He needed brute magical force.

Like blood.

Rodas’s corpse lay a few feet away. Ward dove toward it.

Quirin grabbed his foot and yanked him away. Ward twisted and kicked with his free foot. The blow landed on Quirin’s shin. He lurched to the side with a growl, his grip loosening.

Ward wrenched free and scrambled back. He shoved his hand into a pool of blood and threw his palm forward. “Stop.”

Quirin froze. His muscles trembled, and his eyes widened. He collapsed to his knees and sweat slicked his forehead. Ward inched out of reach, still pointing at Quirin. Now he needed to destroy his spell keeping Quirin’s soul in his body. It wasn’t murder if he was already dead. Really. Except Ward didn’t believe that. His soul was stained, and he could never do enough to make amends now.

He imagined the net encasing Quirin’s body, a shimmering web of magic. It wavered in his mind’s eye but didn’t get stronger.

Quirin growled, and Ward threw his eyes open. The man had bent over, pressing his palms to the floor. He glared at Ward, drew a shaking hand up, and dragged himself forward an inch.

Ward lurched back, his heart racing. “I said stop.”

Quirin groaned, and his head dropped. The muscles in his arms and back twitched. Ward wrapped the magic from Rodas’s blood around Quirin. He imagined it seeping into the man’s muscles, controlling them. Quirin’s trembling stopped. Good. Now, to end the vesperitti spell.

Ward closed his eyes and drew on the image of the net. It popped into focus, wavered, then disappeared. He struggled to bring it back. It had to be there. This was his damned imagination.

It burst into sight.

Quirin growled, and something slammed into Ward’s head. Pain exploded across his face. He opened his eyes. Quirin’s other fist was flying toward him.

Ward wrenched to the side, slapped his bloody palm to Quirin’s cheek, and the man froze.

This was impossible. He couldn’t imagine the spell and control Quirin. And he didn’t have time. Surely, Celia and Allette had the grimoires by now. Once he cast the spell ending Allette’s enslavement, he could do the same for Quirin.

Blood trickled from his nose, and throbbing agony blossomed across his cheek.

He climbed to his feet, concentrating on keeping the magic wrapped around Quirin. The man stood, murder in his eyes.

Finish the spell for Allette. Finish the spell on Quirin. Although, Goddess only knew how he’d cast while keeping his crazed vesperitti under control.

One problem at a time. He rushed to the door at the back of the room, praying it led outside, while Quirin staggered behind him.

Celia yanked down another bookcase on top of Lyla, along with the two she’d already toppled, and ran. She hated running, but with one hand full with the grimoire, she didn’t have an option. She needed to regroup, find a safe place for the book, then come up with a plan. And all in a matter of heartbeats.

She raced around a corner and another, searching for a place to hide the book. There, a trunk at the next shelving intersection. She tried the lid. Unlocked.

If the shelves tumbled down on the trunk, she might never find the grimoire, but that beat hiding it among other books. She tossed the book on top of more books, shut the lid, and slashed an “X” across the top.

Lyla’s sickeningly sweet laughter bounced around the room, grating on Celia’s nerves.

“Come on, rabbit. Come and play,” Lyla called.

Oh, there would be playing. It was her turn to do some hunting.

“Rabbit.”

Celia strained to place Lyla’s voice. To the right, but not directly behind the shelf. She eased to the closest intersection.

Still no Lyla.

To the left lay an aisle she recognized—she was close to the exit. An opportunity, but she couldn’t leave Lyla at her back when she met up with Ward.

Her best bet to kill was a surprise attack stabbing Lyla from behind. If Celia hid by the door and convinced Lyla she was leaving, the vesperitti might just expose her back.

On silent steps, she scurried to the door still open after Allette’s escape. With three entrances into the maze of shelves, Lyla could emerge from any of them.

“Oh, rabbit. Don’t tell me you’re hiding.” Lyla chuckled. “You know I’ll find you.”

“Who said anything about hiding?” Celia threw the door closed.

To the left came the slap of rushing feet. Celia ducked into the right aisle. Calm seeped through her. This was what she’d trained to do.

Lyla’s footsteps came closer.

Celia crouched, peering around the edge of the shelf. She couldn’t afford for Lyla to notice her before she reached the door, but she couldn’t afford to let the monster leave the library, either.

Lyla dashed out of the left aisle, her blond hair and gold dress flying behind her. She was beautiful and terrifying.

And going to meet her end.

She glanced around, and Celia inched back. All her muscles tensed, ready. Go for the door. Offer a clean target. Please let something go smoothly in this cursed mansion.

The vesperitti jerked back to the door and reached for the latch.

Celia pounced. Two quick steps to Lyla. She plunged the knife down.

Lyla twisted at the last second. The knife hit her shoulder blade and missed the heart. She screamed and smoke billowed, the acrid scents of blood and searing flesh hitting Celia’s nostrils. She struggled to keep her grip on the blade and yank it away.

She grasped the narrow handle with her blood-free hand and ripped the knife out. Lyla swung with clawed fingers. Celia ducked, slashed Lyla’s forearm—a shallow cut, but it still drew more smoke and blood—then rolled out of the way.

Lyla sneered. “I had a feeling you’d be more fun than Allette.”

Celia matched her sneer. “Come see how fun I really am.”

Lyla lunged. Celia sidestepped, blocked her swipe, and jabbed the knife into Lyla’s side. The blade hit a rib and plunged down, missing the heart again. Shit. Lyla twisted with unnaturally fast speed and clawed at Celia’s face. She stumbled back. Lyla’s nail caught the exposed flesh above Celia’s stiff bodice, drawing bloody slashes.

Her chest burned, but she ignored it. The vesperitti brought her bloody nails to her mouth and licked them. The bitch was playing with her. Fine. Playing meant lack of focus. Celia adjusted her stance, ready, waiting. If she didn’t have the element of surprise, she always fared better when countering someone’s attack. This time, she wouldn’t miss the shriveled thing that monster called her heart.

Lyla rushed at her. Fast. Her hands were a blur. Celia leapt to the side, hit the floor, and rolled. Books rattled and fell from the shelf. She scrambled to her feet, with a backhanded swipe of the knife to give her space, but Lyla grabbed the hem of Celia’s dress and yanked. Celia teetered, twisted, and lunged. The knife plunged into Lyla’s gut.

The vesperitti growled and clamped a hand over the blade. Flesh seared and smoked. She twisted the knife free, yanking it from Celia’s grip, and tossed it. It skittered across the floor to the door.

Celia punched Lyla in the face. Her nose broke with a resounding crack, and her grip on Celia loosened. A kick to the head sent Lyla reeling. Celia dashed past the vesperitti, diving for the knife, but Lyla snagged her foot and threw her back. The vesperitti leapt on her, grabbing the back of her head and smashing her face into the floor.

Pain exploded. Celia struggled to hold onto consciousness. The knife was only inches away. She stretched. Just a little farther.

Lyla slammed Celia’s head against the floor again. Stars burst across her vision. She bucked. The weight on her back shifted for just a heartbeat, and she squirmed closer to the knife. Her finger brushed the handle. Lyla grabbed the back of Celia’s bodice and flipped her over. Her hand flew toward Celia’s head.

Celia twisted. Lyla’s knuckles skimmed her cheek and hammered into the floor. Celia rammed her fingers into Lyla’s throat. The vesperitti gasped and clutched her neck. With a heave, Celia hurled Lyla off her and threw herself to the knife.

Her fingers wrapped around the hilt as a large, dark shape flew past her. She jerked up. It was Val. Thank goodness. She wasn’t so foolish as to refuse help. Lyla clawed at his face, and he grabbed her wrist, stopping her nails mere inches from his eyes. He punched at her stomach, but she veered away at the last minute and captured his arm.

They writhed, Lyla throwing Val against the shelves. Books toppled on them. The shelf teetered. Val fought to heave Lyla off him, but she rammed him back. Wood snapped and the shelf crashed over. Val fell back, Lyla on top of him.

This was her chance. Celia hurdled and plunged the knife into Lyla’s heart. Smoke burst from the wound. The vesperitti wailed and writhed. Val held her hands. Celia clung to the knife. The smoke billowed, whirling into a vortex reeking of blood and burning flesh.

Lyla threw her head back, howling. Red light exploded from her eyes and mouth. She bucked again, tossing Celia onto the toppled shelves. Val shoved Lyla back. The light intensified, pouring from her. She clutched her heart. Gasped. And collapsed. With a
whoosh
, the light and smoke vanished.

Val staggered to Celia and offered his hand. “Macerio will know she’s dead.”

“I’m sure the whole house heard that.” She accepted his help up and grabbed the knife from Lyla’s corpse. “Let’s get that damned grimoire, find Ward, and finish this.”