King Cave (Forever Evermore, #2)(155)

Scrubbing at my scratchy eyes, deciding I would try the pools first since they were closest, I blinked and stopped. Bent down, peering closer at the coffee table. On it was a rusty brass doorknocker. Beside it a note, written in a man’s scrawl I didn’t recognize.

Reading it slowly, my breath caught. When death knocks, knock back.

Oh, hell yes. Grabbing the rusty brass handle, which was in the shape of a horseshoe, I felt Mage magic sizzle in my hands. I did as the note said. I knocked with it. Something tried to appear before me, but it quickly fizzled out.

I stared. Then blinked. Realization dawned.

I needed to get the hell out of King Cave and try this again. It was dark magic. Nothing like that worked inside the cave. Only pure Mage magic worked.

Without hesitation I raced from the room, Bonnie hot on my heels. I bypassed the main areas so I didn’t draw even more attention to myself, and then stopped to walk sedately through the cave’s main entrance. It was hard to keep from running as soon as my shoes hit the sand, but I stayed steady and began heading down the beach as if I was only going for a normal stroll, so that no guards were alerted.

Feeling the boundary of the Mage’s protection magic drawing closer, I peeked over my shoulder. The guards were talking amongst themselves, not paying me any mind, so I quickly slipped to the side, out of their view thanks to the sand dunes, and raced through the protection ward. I felt the familiar zap, especially when it encountered my hand that fisted the knocker. It didn’t want to pass through, but I grunted and yanked with all of my Shifter strength. And still, as I fell on my butt when it released, I was pretty sure it only did so because it was going out instead of in.

Jumping to my feet, I didn’t bother wiping the sand off my black cargos, and I grabbed my case and gun I had dropped. And raised my hand. Placed the knocker a few inches taller than me, less than a foot ahead. I used it, knocking into thin air.

My eyes widened as a golden door shimmered and wavered in front of me, quickly becoming a solid gold door with a glimmering doorknob. I glanced around it, but it only looked like a door standing tall in the middle of the beach. Eyeing it, I pocketed the handle, then palmed my gun.

Hearing footsteps racing my way, I didn’t look back and quickly opened the door. It swung open and a blast of cold winter air blew against my face and body, making me shiver. Tiny flakes of snow drifted through the doorway to instantly melt against the heat of the beach. Through the open doorway it was night, the full moon shining down on a ton of trees, the forest’s floor covered in snow. Directly in the center of it, almost fifty yards away, was a log home, two stories tall with a wraparound porch, snow covering its overhang and roof, smoke billowing from its chimney and its windows lit merrily.

It looked like a Christmas card, it was so picturesque, but I could feel the taint of black magic surrounding it, ruining its beautiful effect. But that didn’t matter because I needed to get through the door before whoever was almost on me stopped me from doing this. So I stepped through, my feet crunching and falling down into six inches of snow, Bonnie following dutifully even as she hissed.

Instantly, the door disappeared, only the forest behind us. It was eerily silent. Unlike the normal sounds you would hear in a location such as this. Even the wind made no noise through the trees as it blew snow down on me.

The feeling now surrounding me was reminiscent to what Southern Coms called bad juju.

Flatly, it felt wrong.

I shivered, not from the cold, and started trekking toward the log home. Bonnie moved with me, growling softly and scanning the area. It was my destination and I wasn’t about to stop now. My husband would live. No matter the cost to myself.

Getting to the cabin was harder than originally appeared. Minutes stretched into an hour. Every foot I put forward seemed to make the cabin that much farther. Some type of spell to keep others away. Eventually I began to tire, but I pushed onward and began to run.

I needed in there.

Now.

And abruptly — unexpectedly — Bonnie and I were on the front porch. Still running. I skidded to a stop on the slick snow and banged into the front door, Bonnie having less trouble.

As I cursed, rubbing my shoulder, I heard a cackle from inside. Someone thought they were damn funny. But I straightened and didn’t growl in anger when the door opened only moments later. A Mage woman, appearing eighty Com-years old, stood inside the lit entry.

Her clothes looked like a gypsy’s. Her shirt was made of cotton, gold and flared at the cuffs. Her ankle-length skirt was also cotton, black and ruffled. Her wrists were adorned with gold bracelets. And her gnarled, wrinkly feet were bare. Tipping her head to the side and peering down at me, her waist-length golden hair fell over her shoulder.

I barely kept from staring. But not because she was dressed for balmy weather while there were the makings of a blizzard outside. I had to avert my eyes because her own eyes were black. This was odd because all Mages had a variation of golden eyes, but hers were completely black. As in, not even white showed. I knew instantly — her scent surrounding me — it was because she had been practicing dark magic for a very long time.

She stiffened and whispered, “Not yet.”

I peered up at her, staring at her forehead. “Yes, now. I need to speak with you.”

She was still for so long that I wasn’t sure she would allow me access, but eventually she moved aside, whispering, “Justice.”

Carefully, I toed the entrance. I felt nothing awful, so I stepped through, Bonnie pretty much imitating me. The place was just so wrong, it was throwing my senses out of whack. Although, at first glance, it was like any other Mage home. Gold galore in the entry, in the living room to the left, in the dining room to the right, and in a long hallway and wooden staircase straight ahead.