Absolution (3 page)

Once he checked off all the items on his bucket list—destroy the HS Brotherhood from the roots out and find the missing Fae princess, Allana—he would be free to reconcile with his pain and leave this life. Given Fritz’s dedicated scrutiny of him, better to off himself during the day when the gargoyle was dormant and couldn’t stop him.

“Watch your back. Without something to shield your magic, Demons will smell you’re Druid and don’t forget Carlson’s met you.”

“I’m okay. Don’t worry. I can protect myself. And Carlson’s after you and isn’t involved with the Brotherhood.” He nodded to Fritz. “The key is to find Queen Graciela’s daughter. Steve and the guys have the West and Southwest. I’ve got the Mid-Atlantic.”

She crossed her arms over her chest with an icy glare. “As the Cáidh Arm, I’ve given you a direct order. Fritz isn’t your partner on this mission. He has command.”

“You don’t trust me?” His jaw clenched in spite of his attempt to keep a cool façade.

“I trust you to rush in to fulfill your mission without care about your life or the impact your loss would have on those who love you.” She leaned into him and kissed both his checks. “We’ve lost three dear friends, family, over the past four months. I don’t want you to be the fourth. Don’t leave either of us out of the loop.”

He moved away, disconnecting the physical tie her affection created. “I can’t afford to use telepathy. From the intel we intercepted and decoded…” He handed her a sheet of paper. “Farley’s got a telepathic witch at his side. He doesn’t go anywhere without her. Looks like we’ve got another black arts mage out there fighting Carlson for turf.”

“Shit. Guard Luc, Fritz. Guard him well.” Deva crumpled the paper in her fist. “I have a bad feeling.”

“Just a feeling or precog?” Luc asked.

“At the moment, a feeling. Be careful, this has all the marks of a cluster fuck.”

Fritz clamped a ham-sized hand on his shoulder. “Time to go. The portal’s timing out.”

Luc stepped up to the portal and glanced back at Deva. He hated seeing her heartbreak and fear every time she looked at him. “Stay out of my mind, Deva, and stop trying to diminish my pain and guilt. Nothing can undo what I’ve done or ease that pain.”

He didn’t wait to hear yet another denial. He knew she touched his mind, or at least he hoped it was her. Otherwise, he had more problems to deal with, and Goddess above, he had enough problems. With an abrupt nod, he steeled himself, stepped into the portal, and exited at the base of the Blue Ridge Mountains. Two steps and he collapsed to his knees and vomited.

When the portal winked out, he glared up at Fritz, his shadow. If one could call a gargoyle taller than he was a shadow. And shadows didn’t evoke emotions. More than anything, Luc didn’t want to be the death of another person determined to save him, even someone as stubborn as this big lug. “Darkness below, get this through your head. You aren’t my guardian angel. I can handle this alone.”

“True, but with my portals, we can travel, especially escape, without a tail. I can fly as an overhead spotter.” The usually dour gray face slid into a wicked smile, his white teeth gleaming in the moonlight before he disappeared.

“You’re a true granite head.”

“I love you, too, partner.”

CHAPTER 3

“You need to find this healer quickly.”

Luc glanced to his right, his gaze locking with Morgan Farley’s. The anger in the man’s voice was hidden behind a bland façade. Luc saw beneath the veneer, at least he could see that much. It took five months, but he was now in the inner circle of the principal chapter of the HS Brotherhood—Farley’s personal chapter.

He had been right. Farley was a black magick mage. Every time the inky oiliness of his twisted magick brushed against Luc’s Earth-bound magick and sought entry, icy evil warred with his warm, life-giving energy and set his nerves ablaze with the bite of a thousand fire ants. He endured the assault stoically, though he would never forget the corrosive sensations.

He couldn’t get a read on Farley or the kind of magick the man used. All he detected from him was malice so painful he could barely tolerate the mage’s presence and a void of light so intense it could only be soulless.

More attendees shuffled into the room, and he glanced around. All the usual suspects were present. He nodded to Farley’s inner cadre—a witch and daemons, who passed themselves off as norms.

Figured.

Luc was alive only because upon exiting the portal, Fritz had hypoed a subcutaneous magick dampener into his groin—the one place Fritz claimed they wouldn’t look. With the hulk’s demented humor, Luc was surprised the damned gargoyle hadn’t insisted that only his balls could safely shield and camouflage the dampener. A shudder ripped through him—not in this lifetime. Some things were sacred, and his nuts were two of them.

When he asked Fritz where he had gotten the device, his answer was a cryptic, “My father.”

Damn, Luc wished he could get the gargoyle to open up about his past. Hell, he hadn’t known Fritz had a family. He should have. The world’s ten gargoyles had to come from somewhere.

While the implant didn’t affect his magick, the dampener masked all trace of power and enabled him to project one hundred percent norm. A benign option for Farley to manipulate. Luckily, Farley and the Brotherhood couldn’t sense the truth, because Luc was a Druid who not only knew how to administer nature’s finest poisons. He had chosen one that even Farley’s magick couldn’t detect or undo.

Using, actually abusing, Druid magick, he infused the plants with a spell. They sacrificed themselves, breaking leaves and berries apart into tiny pieces on the meals of Farley, his inner circle, and the Brotherhood. He started with rapists, pedophiles, murders, and the torturers. They went fast because he’d used castor beans on them.

Some might disagree, but to him, they were the worst. They broke the spirit and shattered the soul of their victims before actually killing them. Homemade ricin was almost too gentle for them.

The rest he dosed with the magickally created plant poison. Enough to make sick, then he backed off on dosage a little before they all died and started the process anew. Except for Farley’s daemon inner circle, his army was ill, dying a slow, painful death. After the terror they’d inflicted on the tri-state area, a quick death was too kind.

Damn, he wished he had access to the Abyss poison Herazideth to dose all of the Brotherhood. Now, there was a poison whose effects even the infamous Fae healer they sought couldn’t reverse. Herazideth was minimally sentient and once freed wouldn’t rest until it completed its mission—total destruction of the victim. Only the few Fae healers from last Great War knew how to cleanse the body of the toxin. When Deva ingested some during an assassination attempt, it had required the great Fae healer Quinn’s skill, aided by his and Nate’s energy, to save her.

In the past year of battling demons and losing close friends, Luc thought he had learned the true meaning of hell. With the murder of Nate, he’d reached a new low. Over the past five months with Brotherhood, he discovered the truth of the word low. Undercover work required silence and watching heinous horrors committed. He stopped the worst, when he could, and then sent the survivors to the nearest Sanctuary. It left him soiled and cold.

Guilt over killing Farley and his army of vile followers barely touched Luc’s conscience. He also refused to die with them from his poisons. He feigned eating his doctored food and lived on energy bars and trips to the surrounding towns. Yet fearing Farley would discover the truth, he maintained the same internal traces and external symptoms of illness exhibited by those affected. The process proved exhausting, and Farley saw the growing fatigue.

In spite of his mental justification for the deaths, his elemental Earth magick warred with him. Death, the intended result—even when performed in the name of good—would blacken and deplete his Druid soul.

He squelched the arrow of fear lanced toward his heart. Suicide violated a major tenet of his faith. Physical death meant nothing to Druids. The soul was inviolate and indestructible. Death imposed no cage. He would be reborn, but only if his soul survived his violent actions.

Luc leaned against the table, feigning weakness.

Farley raised his hands and the two hundred members of the Brotherhood quieted.

“I’m privileged to speak to you today. I and all of Earth’s
homo sapiens
thank you for the service you’ve given; and continue to give, to our country. There is a Latin phrase I’m fond of:
Facta, Non Verba
. In English, it means ‘Deeds, Not Words.’ All of you exemplify this through your actions and willingness to face the enemy. Never doubt your sacrifices are made for the greater good.

“We’re fighting a vicious, bloodthirsty enemy. They claim they are our allies, battling the Abyss at our side, giving us extra power, activating latent telepathy in humans.

“They lie.

“These people are polluted by this alien DNA and are
not
true humans. Our enemies’ goal is to weaken us. To destroy the
homo sapien
race. To drive us into extinction. We pure humans are being annihilated in fighting the Dark Lord’s demons as the first line of defense. Sacrificing
our
lives to save theirs.”

Luc watched the cannon fodder erupt in whoops and cheers, no doubt feeding Farley’s ego. His eyes narrowed. The involuntary twitches in Farley’s right eye and hand matched his growing excitement. Strange how the tics were worsening. Something about the mage niggled at Luc’s memory. He forced his instincts to connect deep within the Earth’s life force—channeling his energy with the pure life pulsing beneath him, to seek the truth—into abeyance.

To expose himself would gain nothing. Whispers abounded about people who had displeased the hulking ex-NFL lineman turned HS Leader and disappeared without a trace. No, better to stick to the plan. Deviation would get him killed. He was nowhere close to successful completion of his missions: destruction of the HS Brotherhood and location of Allana.

“Surrender is not an option. None of us will survive the consequences of failure. Never doubt, our cause, our war is winnable.
Homo sapiens
will again reign supreme. First, we must eradicate the illness these so-called allies of Earth have spread among us. To do that, we will capture the healer whispered about throughout the Blue Ridge Mountains.”

Farley motioned him and three others forward. “These men, led by Luc Woods, will find her, bring her to us, and she will cure us of this scourge.”

“I vow we will fulfill this mission set before us.” Luc held a fist directly out in front of him then thumped his chest over his heart. The crowd roared, mimicking his action. He stared pointedly into the jaundiced eyes of Farley’s mocha chocolate face.

Then he turned to his team and nodded. He needed to weed out the daemon, Rice, and two middle-aged bikers, if he expected to protect the healer. All of them exhibited signs of the poison, though he didn’t believe Rice was impacted, given Farley’s inner circle of daemons seemed healthy.

“Good man.” Farley turned back to the crowd. “While they fulfill their mission, we will discover the traitors in our midst.”

Luc swallowed back his urge to shout a warning. These pathetic norms, didn’t they realize Farley was getting ready to cull the herd? If this hunt followed the usual methods of mad, power-hungry leaders, few followers would be standing by the time he returned from this mission.

***

The patriotic, xenophobic rumble forgotten, Luc and his
team
stood before Farley in a refreshingly quiet conference room. At the leader’s nod, he broke from the group and moved to the man’s side.

“You must find this healer quickly, Luc.” Farley gave him a quick once over. “None of us is getting better.”

Luc knew what the mage saw—a hundred eighty pound, six-foot follower who could have taken most of the men in hand-to-hand combat five months ago was now a hundred thirty pound scrawny scarecrow. Or so it seemed. Amazing what a little glamour could project, when added to a near-starvation diet.

Yet some of what he saw was the truth. Not even glamour could hide the deepening furrows in his forehead and around his mouth or pewter stripes at his temples from the misuse of his magick.

He raked fingers through his silver shot hair, brushing it off his face. “Do you have a lead on her?”

“Yes. Leon Earl’s taken a family hostage, killed the father to gain the mother’s submission and beat their kid, but she’s still alive. Barely.” Farley lifted his gaze; a twinkle sparkled in his eyes. “The child will draw the healer and we’ll have her.”

“How old is the kid?”

Farley shrugged. “Why do you care?”

He stiffened his spine. His mantra since entering the camp—never show weakness—suppress his gentle Druid side. Badass Luc, that was him. “I’ve heard the woman’s a soft touch for kids. The younger the better.”

“Too true. That’s why we chose this family. The kid’s around three or four. Should’ve done this when the wasting first began. I’m serious, Luc, you find this healer quick. Here,” he growled and shoved a map into his hands. “Watch your back. At least one of them isn’t what he seems.” He canted his head toward the team.