Once Bitten (Shadow Guild: The Rebel #1)(59)

I took it all in as quickly as I could, not wanting to hesitate too long. Hesitation might reveal that I had no idea what I was doing.

That I wasn’t one of them.

Unfortunately, the main doors led directly into the circular, domed space—right where everyone else was standing. Nearly three dozen cloaked figures stood around the perimeter of the room, staring silently at the empty altar in the middle.

There were so many.

Fear pierced me, and I nearly clutched the Devil’s hand for support. I didn’t, of course. This was not the place for hand-holding, no matter how much I wanted to cling to him for safety. No matter what, I couldn’t break character and give us away.

I couldn’t find the victim amongst the crowd, and no one stood out as the leader. Everyone was identical in their red cloaks, hidden by their cowardice and evil.

I was deeply grateful Beatrix hadn’t seen any of this. We’d found her body intact, and she hadn’t suffered long.

I kept my head tilted down as I walked alongside the Devil. If everyone was meant to stand equidistant, that meant that there were two spaces empty across the room. We were possibly the last to arrive.

Together, we strode toward the empty spaces in the lineup. My heartbeat thundered in my ears as we walked, and I prayed that no one was watching too closely. The cloaks covered our faces, but if someone looked from the right angle, they might penetrate our disguises.

Once we were in place, I surreptitiously looked around. It was nearly impossible to make out anyone’s features, and no one looked like the leader. Was the necromancer with the victim now?

Would he bring her out?

The ground began to vibrate, and I stiffened.

Magical signatures filled the air, sparking through the space. There were all sorts of scents and sounds, tastes and feelings. Most of them were bad—the smell of burning rubber, the taste of rotten fruit, the smell of sewage. It felt prickly and evil, like a million ants crawling along my skin.

But it was the smell of death that made my skin grow cold.

The necromancer was coming.





19





Carrow



Temple Church vibrated with power. All around, people raised their hands. Immediately, I mimicked the gesture. The magic flared even stronger, and I realized that these people were feeding their power into the air.

I shared the briefest glance with the Devil, and he shook his head faintly.

Did he mean that I shouldn’t try to mimic what they were doing? I wasn’t even sure if I could push my magic into the air. And if I did, would they be able to sense that I wasn’t the person I was supposed to be?

A low chant began, each person in the room humming notes that made the hair raise on my arms. Magic surged toward the altar, swirling around the great stone platform. Their voices rolled like thunder, vibrating in my chest.

The air shimmered, and a woman appeared, lying still on the dais. She appeared unconscious—please don’t be dead—and her hands and legs were bound. Next to her, a man’s form fizzled into existence.

Unlike the others’ cloaks, his was black. The magic rolling off him made the other participants seem almost nice in comparison.

The necromancer.

Rage seethed through me at the sight of him. He was the real reason Beatrix had been murdered. The reason this other poor woman was on the slab. He raised his hands and began to chant in a rumbling voice. His magic rolled over me, and my stomach pitched. I felt like I was suddenly swimming in acid.

How the hell were we going to fight all these people? We were drastically outnumbered.

But that woman…

I couldn’t look away from her.

She didn’t stand a chance unless we intervened, and it was only going to get more difficult as time went on.

I drew an unsteady breath, trying to brace myself, and murmured to the Devil, “We need to attack. Now.”

Quick as a snake, he raised his wrist to his lips and whispered a command. I caught the word now. The shifters were coming. I pressed my hand to my comms charm and repeated the word, alerting my friends.

The Devil attacked without warning. He slammed his fist into the stone slabs that made up the floor, sending a reverberation of power through the tiles. Somehow, it avoided me, but every other person in the room lost their balance and collapsed to the ground.

Only the necromancer remained standing, and his chants grew louder.

His followers scrambled to right themselves, but the Devil was in motion. He charged the nearest one, landing a devastating punch that slammed the cloaked figure against the wall. His speed was incredible, and he was already moving to the next.

I plunged my hand into the bag at my side, drawing out a potion bomb. I had no idea which one it was, but they were all designed for this kind of fight. I hurled the glass orb at the necromancer. It flew through the air, smashed into an unseen barrier, and disintegrated.

Shit!

The necromancer raised his hands over the woman’s body and kept chanting. Two bloody organs appeared, floating over her chest.

The heart and liver from the other victims.

Fear and revulsion surged through me.

As I fumbled in my bag for another potion bomb, the two organs began to glow. Magic swirled around them, dark and glittery, transforming them into something else, but what?

The Devil moved with deadly efficiency around the room. The other cloaked figures staggered up, calling on their magic and turning it against him. Fireballs whizzed toward me. The Devil intercepted them, taking the hits without so much as faltering. He seemed to absorb the attacking magic, growing stronger with every blow.