The Night Everything Fell Apart (The Nephilim Book 1)(58)

He flew over the summit and banked to the left, then began a slow descending spiral around the site. He and Cybele had tramped over much of the ground below during their afternoon exploration. They hadn’t, however, noticed a particular rocky dip of land, overrun with brambles. Nor the hidden face of a boulder, split in two by a deep crevice, just wide enough for a person—a very slender person—to pass through.

Excitement surged. He knew this place. He’d seen it in Merlin’s memory. The vegetation was different. A wild wood had given way to cultivated fields. But this was the place. He was sure of it. This was the entrance to Merlin’s cave. The resting place of Merlin’s staff. The key to Arthur’s victory over Mab.

Heart pounding, he dove toward it.

And that’s when things got weird.

***

Cybele paced circles in the small clearing, trying to put her finger on why she felt so odd. The moment Arthur had flown off, the atmosphere surrounding the ruined stable had changed. She wasn’t quite sure how it’d changed, or why. It simply felt...off. Much like the Spencers’ dining room.

She eyed the tumbled-down building. Without Arthur’s light to illuminate the darkness, the place took on a sinister aura. The unsettling vibe wasn’t in her head. It emanated from the shadows within.

Inhaling deeply, she slipped her hand into her jeans pocket and drew out her touchstone. The braided alder shoots and the peridot within it was hardly any larger than a walnut. But it was big enough to provide a focus for her magic, and a block for her worries.

There is nothing in there, she told herself firmly. Nothing. We looked everywhere.

A finger tapped her shoulder.

She cried out and spun about, scrambling backwards at the same time. She caught a glimpse of soft light. Then her foot caught on a stone and she went sprawling. She only just managed not to drop her touchstone.

“Sorry! Oh, sorry!”

She blinked up at the young man looming over her, wringing his hands. “Jack? Is that you?”

The odd aura she’d noticed around Jack’s head and shoulders at dinner had brightened. It now cast his entire face in an otherworldly light. He stood, looking down at her with an uncertain expression, hands opening and closing at his sides. His blue eyes revealed fear, apology, and distaste.

Cybele stood slowly, not daring to take her eyes off him. “Jack,” she said. “What are you doing here? Where did you come from?”

There was no way he’d been inside the stable. She and Arthur had looked in every corner. Had they missed seeing Jack on the road? Or in one of the fields? That didn’t seem likely.

“Come. We must go.” He extended his hand to her.

She didn’t take it. “Go? Go where?”

He gestured toward the stable’s sagging doorway. “Inside.” He moved closer.

Cybele resisted the urge to take a step back. “There’s nothing in there.”

“Come,” Jack said again. His hand closed on her wrist.

Hell. She circled her hand, trying to break his hold. His grip held. He was stronger than he looked. She felt a surge of irrational panic.

“Jack,” she said sharply. “Let me go.”

“Go,” he said. “Yes.”

He turned and began a slow trudge toward the stable. Cybele set her heels in the dirt and resisted. To no avail. No amount of tugging, pulling, kicking, or cursing slowed Jack’s forward motion.

Slowly, inexorably, he dragged her after him.





FOURTEEN


Arthur landed near the cracked boulder. As he touched down, the stone blurred and smeared as if it were nothing more than paint running down a canvas. A different kind of barrier came into view. It looked like golden, sparkling gauze.

He’d never seen anything like it. He tried to move closer. With every step, the stone seemed to move farther away. Strong magic. Merlin’s? Arthur discarded that theory almost immediately. This light didn’t feel like Nephil magic.

For one thing, there was no hint of death about it. The force was cooler and sweeter than any power a demon could manage. But for all its brightness, it was no less lethal. Its delicacy was like a spider’s silk: fragile and deadly.

Heavenly magic? Arthur had no experience with that. As he tried to puzzle out who or what might have conjured such a barrier, a sudden gust buffeted his wings. The gauzy light responded with a ripple. The movement spilled light past the boundary of the stone, past Arthur and down the hillside. The leading edge stopped just short of the ruined stable.

He eyed the glittering blanket uneasily. Whatever it was, he didn’t want Cybele facing it alone. He lifted his wings, intending to fly back to her. And then froze as a mournful wail filled the air around him.

The sound seemed to seep from the very stones beneath his feet. It began as a bare whisper, but quickly escalated in volume. The gauzy light pulsed with the eerie melody, as if breathing in tandem with a despairing spirit.

Stranger and stranger. He stepped closer to the pulsating light. This time, it didn’t retreat. He extended a hand. The air in front of the disturbance was hot, though not uncomfortably so. He took another step. He was almost touching it now.

He did touch it. His hand met no resistance. It sank into the luminescence. His arm and shoulder quickly followed. His fingertips brushed something solid. Stone. He spread his palm on the rough surface. Whatever this light was, it hadn’t dissolved the boulder itself. He probed the stone with his hand. The crack was no wider than two of his fingers.