Born in Blood (The Sentinels #1)(107)

Duncan swallowed the lump in his throat, his thumb stroking the inside of Callie’s wrist to assure himself that her heart continued to beat.

“Does she know we’re here?” he demanded.

“Yes.” A smile touched her lips. “She can feel you holding her hand.”

Duncan lifted her hand to press the tips of her fingers to his lips.

Fane shifted to stand beside Serra, his jaw clenched. “Does she know what the necromancer did to her?”

There was a long silence as Serra spoke directly into Callie’s mind.

“He... oh my god.”

Duncan stiffened, his free hand automatically reaching for the gun that was once again holstered at his side.

It didn’t matter his gun had been worthless against the zombies. Or that bullets wouldn’t stop anything capable of breaking through the spells guarding the room.

Rational or not, it was going to be a long, long time before he went anywhere unarmed.

“What’s wrong?” he barked.

“The necromancer ... he was her father,” she said with a shudder. “And the witch was her mother.”

The surge of disgusted shock was swiftly replaced by a startling sense of acceptance.

“Of course,” he muttered, sharing a glance with Fane. “It actually makes perfect sense.”

Fane shrugged, clearly not interested. “What did the necromancer do to her?”

Serra closed her eyes, silently communicating with Callie.

“He used her blood to bind her to the magic of the chalice,” she at last said.

Fane leaned forward. “What magic?”

“It opens the pathway to the underworld.”

Duncan squeezed Callie’s fingers. She was connected to the underworld? Shit, shit, shit.

“How do we close it?”

Serra opened her eyes to meet Duncan’s worried gaze. “She doesn’t know, but she’s afraid.”

Afraid? Afraid of what?

“Tell her that Lord Zakhar is dead.”

She shook her head. “That’s not what’s bothering her.”

“Then what is?”

“If she dies, the Sentinels that are bound to her will be released.”

Duncan parted his lips—about to snarl that there was no way Callie was going to die—only to be interrupted by Fane.

“Back to their graves?” the Sentinel demanded.

“No.” Serra’s expression was troubled. “They’ll kill anything in their path and nothing will be able to stop them.”

“God dammit,” Fane snarled.

Duncan made a sound of impatience. “Look, I don’t want a crazed band of indestructible zombies rampaging through Valhalla—”

Fane glared at him. “It won’t stop at Valhalla.”

“I get it,” Duncan snapped, refusing to consider the damage the zombie warriors could cause. “But right now all I care about is Callie.” He glanced back at Serra. “How do we destroy the chalice?”

She did her psychic thing, her face managing to lose even more color.

“It can’t be destroyed,” she whispered.

“No.” Duncan was abruptly on his feet. “I don’t accept that.”

Fane folded his arms over his bare chest, equally determined.

“If the chalice can’t be destroyed then the doorway must be closed some other way,” he announced, his flat tone shaking Duncan out of his brief flare of panic. “The monk mentioned a ritual. I’ll return to Russia. There has to be some mention of the chalice in the texts.”

Duncan forced himself to take a deep, calming breath. Becoming hysterical wasn’t going to do Callie any good. He had to think clearly. Starting with how they could close the doorway.

Pacing toward the window that offered a view of the still dark countryside, he shuffled through his memories.

There had been something nagging at him since he’d had his meeting with Hektor from the Brotherhood.

Something...

It hit him with enough force to make him gasp.

Fane sent him a searching glance. “You okay, cop?”

“I think we can find someone who knows the ritual much closer,” he said.

“Who?”

“The Brotherhood.”

Fane frowned. “You know how to contact them?”

“No, but I’m betting I know someone who does.” Duncan turned his attention to Serra. “Can you stay with Callie?”

She settled on the edge of the bed, her chin jutted to a dangerous angle. Only a fool would try to pry her away from her friend.

“I won’t leave her side.”

Moving back to the bed, Duncan leaned down to press a lingering kiss to Callie’s forehead, breathing deeply of her apple scent.

“Hang on, baby,” he whispered, willing her to stay strong. “I’m coming back with the cavalry.” Straightening, he snatched the chalice off the table and met Fane’s steady gaze. “Can you take me to Kansas City?”

“Let’s go.”

They made their way through Valhalla and into the small chapel where they stood before the familiar copper post. Fane was never chatty. Tonight he was downright mute as he gathered his powers and sent them spinning through... well, whatever they spun through to get to Kansas City in the blink of an eye.