Illusion (21 page)

“It’s fine. I’m glad you’re back.” Maya stared at her hand. The same one she’d cut in the factory. She didn’t feel great. The ground wavered in front of her eyes, flashing and exaggerated.

“A life she lost in the first place,” the bird muttered.

Clarice grasped Maya’s hand. “Well, you evoked a demon. You should thank your djinni,” she rasped. She bent down and tore a strip of linen from her dress, using it to wrap Maya’s blood-streaked palm.

Maya recoiled from her touch. “The djinni?” The reminder of the dark smudge made the hair on her neck snap to attention.

“Called Besmelo and saved you from further stupidity. Look at your body.”

Maya’s eyes widened at the bruises but it was the lines on her arm that pulled her attention. Blue vines twisted around her biceps, forming an intricate pattern down to her knuckles. The tattoos surged, writhing under her skin, shifting the bracelet on her left arm so it tinkled softly.

“What is it?” She extended her arms.

“You’ve inherited a tattoo—one of Resheph’s. It shows you as a bonded pair,” said Alexandr, smoothing his hair back.

Bonded? It was a relief to know Resh was out of Molokh’s grasp and finally coming home, but was she ready to keep the warrior in her life if they survived this?

“Death is too good for her. Let her stinking father take her,” said Pia. The bird hopped out of the circle and launched into flight up the stairwell.

Clarice turned to Alexandr and gave him a frosty stare. “No one must know Maya’s lineage. Understood?”

Alexandr gripped the back of his neck. “In my desperation, I put us all at risk. I shouldn’t have agreed to this.” He spread his other hand wide to include the dark circle and deep scorch marks on the stone floor.

Clarice fixed him with narrowed eyes. “This might be our last chance to ask the grimoire about Maya’s past. What do we know of her father?”

“Well, I didn’t have any deities helping out,” said Maya. “We were poor, just my mother and I.” Drugs, neglect, abuse, and exploitation—it was ugly and they didn’t need the details.

“Molokh’s daughter.” Alexandr pressed his lips together. He walked to the book. “Show us,” he commanded.

The pages flipped, turning rapidly with a whisper of sound. “The same triplets reincarnate in each millennium. They are both his children and consorts.” Alexandr’s fingers hovered above the thin parchment, tracing the script, his voice hushed. “The first is a child of earth, the second rain, and the last fire. Each born to the physical realms, hidden from the celestial spirits.”

“Why hidden?”

Alexandr glanced up, his face white. “There are several names for each child, depending on the epoch. Molokh’s offspring play a role in old magic and contending forces. Their path starts in adulthood, when they come into their powers. Then, they are the most dangerous.”

Speculation swirled in his eyes, but he continued reading. “The first is called the Obscure One. She brings death and sterility to the land. Her powers are lies, secrecy, cloaking, and betrayal. The Obscene One is a temptress that affords pleasure with pain. Her powers are enticement and vampirism.”

“And the last,” Maya said in a low tone, expecting the worst.

“The last is the Breaker of Peace. She brings division, tragedy, and war. Her powers are destruction and reality shifting.” His voice dwindled at the end.

“Gee. I guess the seductress isn’t me.” Maya was too drained to cry. She wanted to see Resh. For a moment she couldn’t catch her breath. “And how do we push Molokh back behind the Gates?”

“Only the spell caster who summoned him can repel him.”

“If Jhara summoned Molokh, we’re out of luck.” The others look at her and she briefly explained the mage and his defunct factory. The mage would never help anyone except himself.

“Molokh’s powers are growing,” said Clarice. “He shouldn’t have been able to break through the circle to touch you.”

“Besmelo has his hands full, keeping Molokh on a tight rein,” Maya guessed. The slimy feeling of Molokh’s tongue made her skin crawl. “Resh mentioned a Circle of Eight. What is it?”

“A Circle of Eight—a representative from each race—will evoke the Enim warriors and force Molokh and his Khereb back,” Clarice said in a thoughtful tone. “We need a mage as well. Wild magic threading through a shared vision.”

“And we have seven days before Besmelo decides on my punishment,” Maya said. “Why seven days?”

Alexandr looked back at the grimoire, and his finger hovered above the page as he traced the words. “At twenty-five Earth years your appearance changes. Molokh will want you with him to mark the transition.”

Didn’t she have a choice in this? “He thinks I’ll turn bad, give Molokh access to the physical realms?”

He huffed. “How old are you?”

She thought for a moment. “Let’s just say that in seven days we’re out of time.” She turned to the book. “Show me Earth.”

The grimoire flipped, facing her. The pages opened to a desolate scene back on Earth. Khereb in the sky, tossing fireballs at humans and magi. The people and buildings were dragged toward a dark circle in the top right hand corner of the page and disappeared. “They’re gone,” she said. “Did you see that?”

“An empty page. What of it?” Alexandr asked.

“The people disappeared.”

A hand appeared on her shoulder. “I’m sorry, Maya,” said Clarice. “I didn’t see anything.” She looked as worried as Maya felt.

If this was the present, millions on Earth would die. Time was ticking; she could see the big hand winding around the face of a clock in her head.

There was an ominous creak from the plinth, and the grimoire trembled and snapped shut before disappearing into thin air with a bang. The pillars trembled and hairline fractures appeared on their marble surface. The astrological symbols burst into flames and dissolved into the stone with a hiss and smell of sulfur.

Clarice jolted into action. “Besmelo has closed the Pillars. We need to leave.”

Tribune

Maya followed Alexandr back into the curtained alcove, each step bringing her closer to an echoing boom that resonated overhead. She reached the top only to find Lucient standing upright before the mirror, rolling Maya’s necklace back and forth between finger and thumb and revealing more than a hint of rage in his eyes.

He stared at Alexandr. “You abused your position.” He tucked the pentagram into his cloak pocket, out of reach. “A breach of trust before we decided what she’s about.”

The boom had to be Balkaith’s answer to thunder because the small window in the alcove flared with lightning. A rumble shook the walls and Maya flinched. She glanced at Clarice, who was sidling out of the alcove. The dryad disappeared into the fortress, her heels tapping a rapid retreat on the stone floor. Maya slumped back, wishing she could grab the necklace and edge out of the tiny room as well, but the two warlocks stood between her and the only exit.

“There’s more important things here than Council sensibilities,” Alexandr said. “Resheph is my friend.”

So, Alexandr played the loyalty card. She hoped he would find a way to explain because the necklace was the only thing left of her grandmother and she wanted it back.

Lucient didn’t even glance at Maya. He stepped closer to Alexandr. “Mind your tongue. Your father is dead and so is the influence he carried.”

“Bastard son of a whore.” Alexandr lunged forward.

Power ramped up and the mirror leaning against the wall shivered, the glass rattling in its heavy frame. Maya couldn’t seem to get enough air in her lungs; but advising them to
break it up
didn’t seem like a wise choice of words when two warlocks were in the middle of a ball-busting mind curse. She wanted to help Alexandr, but she didn’t get a chance to form a coherent thought before Lucient beckoned Maya with one finger, his expression smug.

“Tell it to the Tribune.” He caught hold of Alexandr’s staff and tossed a streak of flame at his head. Alexandr twisted and ducked beneath the bolt of fire. It hit the wall, turning the stones red-hot, and then rebounded, hitting him in the middle of his back. Alexandr collapsed on the floor, writhing and covered in black smoke.

Maya squatted down by the moaning Alexandr and brushed his body with her fingers. He winced and shrugged her touch away.

“Leave him be. He’ll follow when he’s recovered. The Khereb arrived while he found his conscience,” said Lucient. “A full Assembly waits.”

* * * *

The number nine had been carved deep in a repetitive pattern all over the walls of the Tribune antechamber, the entryway larger than her entire apartment back on Earth. The more Maya looked at the numbers, the more they appeared to vanish, twinkling out of existence. Their legs twined together forming loose curls. She stared down at her feet, and then at Alexandr, who leaned against an open archway, his arms crossed. The thick, ropy scars on his neck and arms made her feel queasy, but she didn’t ask him if he was okay. His fixed expression said it wasn’t a topic open for discussion.

Alexandr nodded at the wall. “Nine is a magical number symbolizing the completion of a cycle of life.”

“Which means what?”

“You can expect the Tribune to cast their mind on the needs of the collective. Don’t tell them about your connection with Molokh.”

She shivered. The whole place radiated cold and she kept silent. What if Molokh reneged on the deal and didn’t return Resh? She wasn’t sure she could face the demon again.

“How much trouble are we in?”

Alexandr may not be as large as Resh, but he still overwhelmed her short frame. He scowled. “I’ll find my way back into their good graces. Your situation is less favorable. Few will oppose a ruling from a full Assembly.”

Wisps of cloud streamed into the antechamber and Maya started as the air buzzed with electricity. A square hand appeared on the wall several feet away. A dark-clad man with a heavy sword materialized, condensing from mist. Ozone curled from his body and wafted over her face.

The man’s features seemed carved from the rock he’d stepped through. His dark coat rose high on his neck, buttoned across his chest with silver clasps and down the left side. A strange cuneiform insignia had been embroidered in silver on the short collar, matching the black ones tattooed around his neck. His pure black hair was cut short, hugging his scalp.

“Aseroth, attached to the Bellator Legion, at your service,” he said in a formal, clipped voice. “Clarice advised us of your situation.” He stepped closer, handing her an amethyst quartz crystal, avoiding contact. The warm weight sank into her palm, pulsing in her blood.

“This belongs to Imperator Resheph. When he returns, pass it on. The Bellator Legion leaves at dawn.”

Alexandr’s open hand shot out, but at the last moment he pulled back, clasping his fingers together with his other hand instead. “Aseroth, you have a habit of dropping in unannounced.”

Maya shot a glance up at Alexandr. The tightness in his voice caught her by surprise.

An odd tension emanated between the two men. Competition? They clearly weren’t friends. “Will you fight the Khereb?” she asked, staring at Aseroth. The crystal fuzzed, zapping her fingertips as she rubbed its jagged surface with the pad of her thumb.

“We’ll hold them off as long as possible,” Aseroth said in a clear voice. “Resheph is our commander. Our fealty extends to his
uxor
.” He bowed his head in a slight movement.

Uxor?
She’d have to learn their language. The idea of this cold-faced stranger owing her any loyalty seemed strange.

“Are the Khereb in the city?” Her pulse hammered with every intermittent boom above the antechamber.

Smoke churned in Aseroth’s eyes. “The Khereb try to break through the shields. We’ll hold them off as long as possible.”

Alexandr snorted, but Aseroth ignored him, nodding abruptly to Maya. “Tell Resheph we await his return,
bellatrix
.” His clothes made a strange crackling noise and he dissipated, leaving curls of smoke in the air.

She jumped, unsettled by the suddenness of his exit. She’d have to reconcile herself to warlocks appearing from nowhere. Goose pimples ran up her forearms, and the hair on her neck prickled. Aseroth exuded endurance, as if he’d wait for hours on a stable platform for his prey then shoot it without thought.

“What did he call me?”

“
Uxor
is female companion.
Bellatrix
means warrior. Resheph’s legion has accepted you. Clarice interceded on your behalf.”

Maya was an artist, not a warrior. It wasn’t in her nature, despite stabbing Molokh, and Trent back on Earth. “Why?”

“Because in crossing realms, you survived
hieros
, the holy union. If Resheph dies, you’re entitled to his holdings. You’ve completed the sacred marriage.”

Maya leaned back, her hands numb. “I didn’t agree to any ceremonial joining.”

“Perhaps not, but technically, in the view of my countrymen, you’re partners. Until one or the other dies, or petitions the Elders for separation.”

Why had Resh saved her? What did he get out of all this?

“Can I see the stone?” asked Alexandr, interrupting her tumultuous thoughts. He held out his hand. Maya had to consciously unfreeze her muscles to relinquish the crystal. It reminded her of Resh. Hot and hard, like rock. Alexandr’s eyes were fixed on the crystal. He bounced it a few times in one hand, as if weighing it, then returned it to her.

“What does it do?” she asked. The stone streamed warmth into her hand, the amethyst color reflecting light. She probed the sharp surface with her sensitive fingers, tracing the hidden hollows and sharp ridges of the crystal.

“It’s probably a scrying device.” Shadows lurked in Alexandr’s eyes, and his smile didn’t reach them. “Don’t cross the Order. They’re brutal and self-serving, even as they look after their own.”

Maya looked at him sidewise.

“If the Tribune believe you have high-level skills you might be granted asylum. Shall we work together on this? You could draw something for me in return.”

She considered him. “What’s the alternative to asylum?”