The Night Everything Fell Apart (The Nephilim Book 1)(106)

Arthur pressed on, hardly daring to hope. “Summon them.” When Mab seemed to dismiss the idea, he added, “Unless, of course, you’re afraid of what might happen if you do.”

Would Mab take the bait? He braced himself for her next blow. Waited for her to laugh and resume the fight.

“Afraid?” Her brows went up. “Oh, I think not, Arthur.”

“Then do it,” he shouted. “Summon my father’s relations to witness my challenge.”

Another long moment passed in which Arthur once more thought he’d lost. Then the ruby nestled in Mab’s cleavage flared. The stones worn by her seven adepts responded, gleaming blood red in answer. They took up a pulsing rhythm, glowing like hot coals alight on the dark moor.

The breath flooded out of Arthur’s lungs. The summons was not limited by distance. It would reach every Druid who possessed a fragment of Mab’s touchstone. Every Druid bound in fealty to the alpha.

“It is done,” Mab said. “The clan is summoned. Your worthless kin will soon bear witness your defeat.”

Arthur forced himself not to react. His gambit had worked. He’d gained a bit of time. How long before his father’s people arrived? A few hours? More? Would they join his challenge, face death and enthrallment in an effort to defeat Mab? None of them had taken the risk seven years ago. Maybe none would now.

He turned toward the house. Cybele stood in the doorway. Their gazes touched; grim understanding passed between them. Then her eyes suddenly shifted to a point behind him.

“Arthur! Behind you!”

He spun around. Mab stood with arms raised high. Not a spark of hellfire emanated from her hands, but he felt her magic nonetheless. It rippled from her body in undulating waves. The ground around her turned dark and began to move.

No. It wasn’t the ground that was moving. It was the mass of tiny, writhing creatures upon it. He watched in horror as they surged toward him. The wave reached and crested the garden wall. Spiders. Thousands, maybe millions, each no bigger than a fingernail. Were they real? Or simply an illusion? From this distance, it was impossible to tell.

The leading edge of the horde formed an undulating line. It seeped in his direction like a spill of black oil. Arthur braced himself. White flame leapt into his hands.

“Arthur.” Mab’s clear voice rang out above the swarm. “Give yourself up. You can’t win. Not against me.”

“You’ve broken the terms of the duel. The clan—”

“I told you, sugar. I decide what’s going down. If you’re hankering so bad for a fight we’ll do it here and now. As for your precious kin, the only question is whether they’ll find you dead or enthralled when they arrive.”

The arachnids swarmed closer, flooding the rose beds. They enveloped the apple tree in a dirty, shuddering blanket. Arthur sent his hellfire up the staff, swirling the magic around the crystal before sweeping it across the garden.

The swarm scattered to avoid the flames. But was it the true reaction of living creatures? Or had Mab simply adapted her illusion to counter his attack?

The door to T?’r Cythraul slammed behind him. Good. Cybele must have taken shelter inside the house. He glanced behind him. No, goddamn it. She’d closed the door, all right, but she was running toward him.

She reached his side. “Holy crap,” she said in a horrified whisper. “Do you think they’re real?”

“Don’t know,” he said. “Get in the house.”

She shot him a repressive glance. “Fuck that.”

The swarm was regrouping. Arthur eyed its renewed advance uneasily. “Sod it all, Cybele. Be reasonable. You don’t have hellfire. If those things are real, you can’t fight them. “

“I can cover you. Make you less of a target for Rand and Hunter and the others.”

The others—? With all his attention on Mab, Arthur had forgotten about her thralls.

“Rand and Hunter to our left,” she said calmly. “Evander on our right. Draven and Blade on the roof behind us. Don’t know where Clay’s got to.”

Arthur’s gaze darted to the cluster of Druids on the moor. Luc, who was in no condition to fight, was the only adept left among the dormants.

An orange fireball scudded into the ground fifty feet to his left.

Hunter. Arthur swore viciously. “No way is his aim that bad,” he muttered. “What the fuck’s he playing at?”

“He’s not playing.” Cybele’s voice held a distinct note of satisfaction. “He’s confused. I’ve blurred our position and set illusions of our bodies in seven different spots. They’ll be blasting everything but us.”

Arthur was damn glad to have Cybele by his side. She might not be an adept, but her magic was uncanny in its inventiveness. He gave up any notion of herding her to safety. Safety didn’t exist, anyway. He blasted another round of hellfire at the spiders. This time, they barely paused in their forward motion.

Cybele sucked in a breath. In seconds, the swarm would be on them.

“Come on.” He grabbed her arm.

With Mab’s laughter following, they bolted for the house. Arthur threw himself at the door and wrenched at the heavy brass knob. It came off in his hands.

“Fuck.”

“Hurry,” Cybele panted, her hand on his back. “Do something else. They’re almost on us.”