Devils & Thieves (Devils & Thieves #1)(67)
Guided only by the dim silver glow of the moon through filthy panes of glass, I began to make my way to a set of stairs that led up to the second floor. My parents and Alex and the others were directly above me—I could smell the faint waft of their magic now, all mixed together. I flexed my fingers and smelled the stinging mint of my own power, and I couldn’t help but think that Alex would be so proud of me; I’d dug my power out from under all those layers of denial, as she had said I could, and now I was going to use it.
The darkness at the bottom of the staircase was nearly complete, but I could see where the steps ended near the ceiling in a trapdoor. There was no locant barrier there. Maybe Darek had been arrogant enough to leave it unprotected.
“Sorry, Jemmie,” came Killian’s voice from behind me—a moment before his arms slid around me—and his fearsome animus magic did the same, winding around my head and body like ropes before I could conjure any type of shield. A sense of numbness came over me, and I sighed. If Killian was here, it meant Crowe might have a chance. There was no point in fighting.
“Come on,” Killian said as he tugged me up the sagging stairs. His muscles were trembling. I swear he didn’t want to be doing this. But I understood his magic well enough to know that talking wasn’t going to change things.
We reached the trapdoor, and Killian swung it up and helped me through into a cavernous space. The ceiling had rotted away in some places, revealing the starry sky above as well as the huge missing section of the floor that we’d seen from outside—from here, it was just a black pit. Even though we were a few dozen yards away, on the other side of the space, I could hear the rush of the river below. Next to the giant hole in the floor was a stack of massive logs, which probably concealed the ramp Crowe was using. The floorboards creaked beneath my feet as Killian guided me out of the shadows with his mind, his hand resting lightly on the back of my neck.
Darek had lit lanterns he’d clearly stolen from the festival. They were placed against the walls. A big wooden trough sat in the center of the floor, maybe eight feet long and a few feet wide. Around it stood all the people we were missing. My parents, Alex, Flynn, Hardy, Boone, and Gunnar. Katrina and Jane were there as well. They stood on either side of the trough, their bare arms stretched out over it, palms down. Their eyes were unfocused.
“Mom!” I yelled. “Dad!” I wanted to run to them but couldn’t get my feet to move.
“They can’t hear you,” said Darek. He was standing on the far side of the trough, looking triumphant. “I’ve put my uncle’s magic to good use. They’re deaf and blind. So are the others.”
There were nine total. Alex and Gunnar stood across from each other, both of their faces stained with dirt, their hair a tangled mess. They’d fought, and they’d lost.
“Let them go,” I said. Where was Crowe? I couldn’t look for him. I couldn’t do anything but stand like a zombie at the opposite end of the trough, completely lost in Killian’s influence.
Darek was watching me intently. “I heard the gunshot and thought he’d killed you,” he said.
“I ducked.” My arms were slack at my sides as Killian’s magic stroked at me, filling my nose with the smell of copper and salt and ash and sweat. Mine and Killian’s.
Darek arched an eyebrow. “Is Crowe dead, then?” Around him, the locant shield glowed weakly, revealing a few spots that had worn away. It was still there, but fading fast. “He’d better be dead.”
“Not as dead as you’re about to be,” came a voice from the darkness behind him.
Darek whirled around as thick whips of venemon magic flew outward from the shadows and slammed into his body, making the locant shield flicker and fade. With a desperate sound, Darek dove for Flynn, who was standing nearest the end of the trough, right next to Old Lady Jane. Darek squatted low as he wrapped his fingers around Flynn’s unyielding forearm while the older man merely stood placidly, as if lost in a dream.
Crowe moved into the lantern light, his power perfectly controlled and absolutely terrifying, like an army of vipers just looking for a place to strike. Each loop of it spiraled in the air, the ends narrowed to sharp, stabbing points. His lip curled when he saw Darek hunkered down behind the trough. “How’s that stolen shield holding up, asshole?”
Darek let out a nervous laugh, still holding tightly to Flynn’s arm. Something about it felt wrong, but I couldn’t quite break through the numbing peace of Killian’s magic to figure out why. “I guess you’re as strong as everyone says, Crowe,” Darek replied. “But you’re not about to stop me.”
“Wanna bet?” Crowe spread his fingers, and one of the golden vipers lashed out, slamming into Darek’s shoulder. He fell backward with a scream, blood welling from what looked like a stab wound. He rolled over quickly, though, green inlusio magic slithering from his fingertips.
He’d just siphoned a hefty amount of Flynn’s magic, and Crowe couldn’t see it. He had no idea. The sight of Crowe stalking toward Darek, the urgency and need I felt to save him, tore at the bonds of Killian’s magic inside my mind. But it wasn’t enough. As Crowe raised his arms and his magic reached for Darek one last time, Darek flung his arm out.
The inlusio magic arced through the air and engulfed Crowe. Threads of it slid into his ears and over his eyes. He gasped and froze. “What happened?” he whispered, his voice cracking as he stared blindly at all of us. “Did I just do this?”