Firestorm: Heart of a Vampire #5 (16 page)

The phone clicked in her ear. Turning to Eric, she studied him.

He seemed more relaxed than she’d ever seen him. Great sex helped with that, but it was so much more. As if a huge weight had fallen away.

“You sure you want to come?” she asked.

His expression turned stony. “Dare you ask?”

“I guess not.” She sat up, the thin sheet falling to her waist.

His gaze locked on her naked chest, his hands clenched on his thighs. Then, slowly, he reached over and traced a bite mark over her right nipple and the resulting hickey he’d left. “I didn’t hurt you, did I?”

She chuckled, pinning him with a fake glare. “Dare you ask?”

He finally smiled and repeated her words, “I guess not.”

“Good.” As she noticed his growing erection, she nibbled her lower lip, then checked the time once more. “Meet you in the shower?”

He swept her into his arms and carried her into the bathroom. Without setting her down, he turned on the water and stepped beneath the freezing cold spray. She shrieked when it hit, shoving at his shoulder.

“Don’t worry. I’ll warm you up,” he replied huskily.

“You’d better,” she replied, reaching up to kiss him.

Chapter Seventeen

T
hey walked through the dark graveyard, Eric practically dragging the resistant man by the leash attached to his bound wrists. After a few near bites on the ride over, Cat had gagged their prisoner. An added benefit was the muffling of his eerie groans.

Soon, they reached the stone mausoleum standing by itself on a small hill. The only other thing occupying the space was a tree, devoid of life even beyond the rest of the graveyard. Its empty branches stood outlined against the night sky. The only light came from the sliver of the moon far above.

Cat glanced at Eric, studying his reaction. He stared straight ahead, brows drawn, familiar scowl in place. Only now, she knew it was a façade, his way of keeping space between himself and the rest of the world.

At the door to the stone structure, Cat reached out and knocked. The sound echoed into the desolate darkness around them.

After a long moment, the door creaked, swinging inward. Inside, the place was pitch black, its inky shadows all encompassing.

She shivered, then stepped forward.

Eric grabbed her arm. “Are you certain we can trust this sorceress?”

She patted his hand, stopping when she realized what she was doing. “She’s a priestess, more of a witch than a sorceress.”

He glared into the dark. “Not much difference.”

“Actually, there is. She is bound by the law of three that witches ascribe to. Not only does she try to do no harm, she believes any pain she inflicts will return to her three-fold.”

“So?” he replied as if disinterested, though by the tenseness of his shoulders, he was paying great attention. “Most sorceresses are strong enough to deflect any retribution.”

“Then you’ll just have to trust me,” she replied, standing on her tiptoes and placing a quick kiss on his lips.

Rubbing the back of his neck, he said, “I’ll go first, with this guy.” He pointed to the now silent man.

She nodded. “But be aware, Jezamine keeps her entrance... um, well, decorated, I guess is the word. She says it keeps out unwanted visitors. And don’t draw any weapons. She doesn’t like that.”

His eyes narrowed, but he raised his chin and headed into the dark.

* * *

Eric felt blind and unprepared. Even with
BrynTröll
strapped to his back, he knew there were things a sorceress or witch could throw at him that he’d be hard-pressed to stop.

On the far wall, light flared to life. The torch hung from a sconce, illuminating an entrance to descending stairs. Going underground seemed to be the bane of his existence.

Things tended to happen down in the belly of the Earth that forever changed one’s outlook on life. Apprehension skittered over his neck. A feeling that something wasn’t right. That he’d be required to deal with something ahead he didn’t want to even think about, much less face.

Cat laid a hand on his back, not pushing him forward, but more as comfort. It helped.

His only choice was to continue on. There was no way in all the hells he’d allow her to go alone. With a deep breath, he stepped forward and started down the stairs, tugging the man to follow.

As they walked, more torches along the walls flickered to life.

Cobwebs decorated the stone walls, resplendent with fat, dark spiders. The black widows flashed their red hourglass bellies as if in warning to stay back.

After a little more than ten feet, the stairs ended at a long, dimly lit tunnel. Cat moved to his side and they continued on.

The place smelled of swamp, a damp muddiness filled with decay. As they walked, Eric tried not to notice the bones littering the ground. Some looked to be from strange animals, others distinctly human.

And this woman, this Jezamine, was supposed to be on their side?

Finally he spotted an arched entrance ahead. A cackle filled the air, reminding him of the perfect evil witch from movies of old. He reached back and tightened a grip on
BrynTröll
. He wanted to draw his axe, feel its heft in his palm, but he heeded Cat’s warning. No use offending the witch. Yet.

He stepped into the entrance, then stopped short. The cavern was huge, the ceiling a good thirty feet overhead. As big as a football field, the place no longer smelled of damp swamp, but of fresh water. There was no way they were still beneath the New Orleans graveyard anymore.

The walls reflected pinpricks of light, as if made of crystal.

In front of them stretched a long table, velvety black cloth draped on top of it. And on the cloth, a mix of magical implements lay cluttered, yet strangely from the corner of his eye, he could almost sense a pattern to the chaos.

“Ah, ye are here. ’Bout time.”

Eric spun. From an archway to the left, an old crone stepped forth. She cackled again, raising the hairs on his arms. Her blackened lips stretched, revealing a mostly toothless grin, as she glided forward like someone much younger than her appearance suggested.

Mussed, thin gray hair hung wildly around her heavily wrinkled, plump face. She stopped just a few feet away. He stared down at the short witch as she sniffed the air. Her black, depthless eyes crinkled. “Ye be havin’ a fine time afore ye came, me thinks.”

He couldn’t pinpoint her scent, but she wasn’t human. “What are you?”

Jezamine shot him a glare. “None of yer business, boy.”

Cat laid a hand on his arm and stepped in front of him. “Thank you for having us here.” She bowed her head.

The witch lost a miniscule portion of her air of danger. “Child. Been a while.” Her gaze pinned Eric. “Why ye be bringing this brute?”

“He’s helping me.”

The witch cackled. “Aye, I suppose so. Yer famine done turned to feast. Ye love him yet?”

Cat blushed furiously, looking anywhere but at him or the witch. “We didn’t come to discuss my sex life.”

“Oh? Ye sure ’bout that?”

“Yes,” Cat replied emphatically.

“Hmm. Methinks ye be wrong.” Jezamine glided to the table, rearranging a few of the items on it so fast her hands were a blur. Then she froze, slowly turning to face them. Her eyes were unfocused, though she seemed to be staring not at him, but all the way into his very soul.

“Damaged.”

“Aye,” he replied, though he hadn’t meant to.

“Haunted.”

“Aye.” Again, the reply came against his will. He struggled against the spell, though he didn’t feel entrapped.

“Not bespelled. Just speaking true,” the woman said, moving around him in a circle. When she reached his front, she held out one thick arm, pointing a finger at his chest. When one black talon-like nail touched the scars over his heart, he wanted to scream. Instead, a feeling of peace drifted over him. “It be yer choice, boy. Ye can cling to the past, let it rule you. Or ye can let the Fates send yer future as they be tryin’ to do.”

The peaceful warmth fled, leaving him feeling lost, lonely. He glanced from the witch to Cat, not sure what had just happened.

“What did you do to me?” he growled.

The witch merely grinned. “Showed ye what ye can have, if ye let go.” Jezamine pointed to a shadowy alcove along one wall. “Shackle yer prisoner over there. We’ll see what’s to see.”

Eric led the moaning man over. Torches flared to life at his approach. He hesitated, then with a deep breath, did as the witch bid.

After chaining the man to the wall, he stepped back. Jezamine glided over, a dark bag with strange markings in her clawish hands. She shook the bag up and down the man’s body. The reaction was nearly immediate. He began to scream.

Eric knew the sound well. It was one of deep anguish, a scream coming from the pit of the man’s soul as he was tortured, and knew he would never get away.

Jezamine snapped her fingers in front of the man’s face and the shrill cries cut off. His eyes slipped closed and his head fell forward, unconscious.

“Well, now. That be that.” The witch shook her head, and Eric thought he saw a deep worry flash through her gaze. A second later, her face was enigmatic once more. She spun, heading back to the table. “Come, girl. Let us seek yer answers.”

Eric wanted to turn and flee this place and this woman who saw so deep inside him. Instead, he stayed by Cat’s side as she approached the far end of the table.

Jezamine lifted a silver cup etched with strangely wavering runes around the sides. She shook it three times, then dumped its contents out onto a clear circular area surrounded by small crystals.

Eric nearly jumped, his stomach roiling as he realized the cup had held human finger bones. Small ones, childlike. “Where—”

“Hush, boy. No murders brought me these. That not be conductive to speaking with the Fates,” she whispered harshly. Bending over the table, she studied the bones.

“Ah. Yes. Then?” She poked at one bone and it rolled to its side. “But what...”

Another bone spun without being touched.

Eric shook his head, his muscles tense, ready to fight or flee, whatever came his way.

As if sensing his turmoil, Cat grabbed his hand and held tight.

The witch continued to stare at the bones, muttering every now and then. Time passed, though he couldn’t quite figure out how long they’d been down in this place.

The old crone glanced up at him sharply. She waved a hand to the right and ghosts sprung from the floor. The red-headed sorceress standing beside his sire’s twin sister. His tormenters.

His heart thumped as they both laughed soundlessly, staring at him with deep hunger, ready to continue his tortures.

“They be in yer head, boy. Not real.” The witch’s lips didn’t move, as if she spoke to him, mind to mind.

A haze covered his thoughts, like being sucked into a dream.
Real enough
, he thought.

“No. Ye have power. Send their remnants back to hell. Be strong, and they will leave ye be.”

Can’t
.

“Can. But ye need a reason to fight it. To fight yer own mind. Look at the girl beside ye.”

He didn’t feel himself move, but suddenly he was looking at Cat. She seemed not to notice anything going on, just continued to watch the witch.

“She be precious. Be she important enough to fight yerself?”

Aye
, he replied, no hesitation, the answer coming from his heart.

The witch chortled with glee.

Cat blinked as if coming out from a trance. “What do you see?”

“Lots, girl. The Fates show me all, and it’s good for ye. At least, after.”

“After what?” she asked.

“After ye destroy that which seeks to destroy ye both.”

Eric growled. First the witch invaded his head. Now she gave them cryptic answers. “And what might that be?”

Jezamine glanced at him, her black eyes glowing. “Ain’t gonna like it. But will ye fight or flee?”

“I’ll fight,” he replied.

Cat squeezed his hand.

The witch cackled and the hair on his nape stood straighter. “Even if what ye face be old, dark magics? Ye two be facing Voudon. Not be easy to fight, not be easy to survive.”

“Voodoo?” Cat whispered, though she didn’t seem surprised. “Are you sure?”

The witch glared. “Fates tell me, I tell ye. Zombie man over there tells all.”

“Sorry.”

Mollified, Jezamine picked up one of the finger bones. “It be a winding path ye both must take. Decisions ye don’t want to make. Fate has brought ye together. To destroy this. To destroy yer own past haunts. If either falter, neither survive.”

“Can we succeed?” Cat asked cautiously, her grip on his hand tightening.

“Maybe,” was Jezamine’s reply. She pinned Eric with her gaze. “Ye leave, this girl dies. Ye try sending her away, ye will die. Ye two must work together. Ye, warrior, need her, and her magic.”