The Night Everything Fell Apart (The Nephilim Book 1)(69)
Dusek’s left hand lifted a slight degree, the face in his golden ring blinked its eyes. Arthur frowned. Nothing untoward occurred, however, and Dusek’s hand soon relaxed back to his side.
Arthur took a step toward his parents’ murderer. “When I retrieve Merlin’s staff, I’ll keep it. You have to know that.”
“That is, of course, a choice you may make. However, know that the celestial seal remains intact around us. Unless you have an angel to help you pass through it, you will die in this cave. As Merlin did.” His shoulders lifted and fell in one smooth movement. “I will, of course, regret the loss of the staff. But I will be greatly consoled by my possession of your lover.”
“My lov—” Arthur spun about. Cybele no longer stood behind him next to Jack’s unconscious body. His heart thumped painfully. “What have you done? Where is she?”
“Calm yourself, Arthur. I assure you, I would not harm as much as a hair on her head.” His eyes glinted. “A Druid dormant, especially one ripe for the Ordeal, is exceedingly hard to come by.”
Arthur swore viciously. The magnitude of Dusek’s magic stunned him. The Nephil had snatched up Cybele and Arthur hadn’t even noticed. A crushing sense of inadequacy descended upon him. If Dusek forced Cybele into her Ordeal, she’d become his thrall and his bridge to Druid powers.
Over my dead body.
His skin and eyes burned. His wings rose. Hellfire crackled all in his hands. He was poised for battle, but how could he hope to win? He fought back his demon rage. His mind raced with fury, but he needed calm. He needed focus.
One hand came up to cover the moonstone and press it into his chest. He drew a slow breath. “Where is she? I need to see her alive and well before I touch that staff.”
Dusek nodded. “As you wish.”
His ring’s face moved again, its mouth opening wide. A subtle veil lifted, revealing Cybele. She lay at Dusek’s feet, wrists and ankles bound with hellfire.
Arthur stared. Teleportation? That wasn’t a power associated with Alchemy. What the fuck was going on?
Dusek smiled at Arthur’s shock. “Yes, Arthur, it is true. I have power beyond your understanding. And I might have had more, much more, if Mab hadn’t snatched you from my grasp seven years ago. Ah, well. Perhaps it was all for the best. Cybele may not be heir to Merlin, but I sense her power is strong. Enthralling her will be my pleasure.”
Cybele’s eyes were wide with pain and fear. Arthur didn’t move his gaze from her as he said, “Let her go. Then I’ll think about getting the staff for you.”
“Hand me the staff,” Dusek replied smoothly, “and perhaps I will be inspired to release her. Though—” His lashes lowered. “Now that I think on it, perhaps not. Cybele as my thrall may be the greater prize.”
Arthur nearly choked on a surge of panic. “I vow, Dusek. You will regret the day you crossed my path.”
“Strong talk from a weak man. I grow weary of it. Bring me the staff. Or bid your lover farewell.”
And if Arthur couldn’t pull the staff from the stone? What then? But no, he wouldn’t think of that. He fixed his gaze on the staff’s crystal, on the sparks erupting from the orb, only to fall into the black pool. With one slow downstroke of his wings, Arthur lifted into the air and glided over the water. He touched down lightly on the island.
Here, the wailing filled his ears, blotting out all other sound. From across the water, Arthur had thought the island flat and smooth. Now, standing behind the waterfall of light, he saw it sloped to a shallow pit in the center. Merlin’s staff, standing upright in the center of the depression, was taller than Arthur expected. The twisted wood, with its orb set in finger-like branches, rose higher than his head. As the vision Dusek had forced on him had shown, the wood was not one species, but three. Oak, rowan, and yew.
At the base of the staff, scattered over the stone, lay bones.
He stared. Ribs and vertebrae. Pelvis. Femur. The bones of two arms. Merlin, unable to breach the celestial seal the archangel Raphael had set over the cave, had died beside his staff. His skull, released from its spine, had rolled a short way to one side. His ancestor’s hollow eye sockets seemed to stare straight through him.
A deep chill invaded Arthur’s body.
“He got what he deserved.”
Arthur jerked around to find Dusek on the island beside him. Damn. The bastard moved as swiftly and silently as death itself. His cloak was gone, as was his shirt. His chest, hairless and slender, radiated an aura of wiry strength. Black wings rose above his head. Arthur’s gaze darted across the water. Cybele still lay in the same place, wrapped and writhing in hellfire.
The Alchemist’s voice dripped with contempt. “Merlin was so very powerful and yet so very foolish. The combination of traits seems to be a Druid shortcoming.”
“How did you find this place?” Arthur demanded. “It was hidden by Heaven. My ancestors searched for centuries without uncovering a trace of it.”
“That,” Dusek said, “is a story for another day. For now, you will do as you’re told. Retrieve the staff and deliver it directly into my hands.”
Arthur darted a glance at Cybele as he weighed his response. She wasn’t close by, but did it matter? Distance seemed no impediment to Dusek’s magic. What could the Alchemist do with a Druid staff once he had it? In the normal scheme of things, a rival Nephil would require a Druid thrall to perform Druid magic. What power would Merlin’s staff bring to Dusek? It was impossible to tell.