“The Mother of Lost Souls.” Dorian shook his head, glancing at the broken shards still scattered on the ground. “All this time, I thought it was just another esoteric piece of art. Yet it was hiding something far more valuable.”
“Obviously, Rogozin and Chernikov knew better.” Charlotte set the blade back on the slab and paced the small chamber. “A few months ago, I would’ve told you this piece was the Bratva’s holy grail. But Rogozin and Chernikov’s organizations make the Bratva look like schoolyard bullies. And with so many supernaturals bidding on other pieces from your father’s collection… No. This isn’t just a Russian cultural artifact. There’s something more to all of this.”
“She’s right,” Colin said suddenly, emerging from the shadows with one of their father’s anatomy books in hand. “Thereismore to it. Alotmore. In fact, it’s not a Russian artifact at all.”
“What is it, then?” Dorian asked.
He glanced at Charlotte, then cut his eyes back to Dorian, as if he wasn’t sure how much to reveal.
“Speak candidly, brother,” Dorian said.
Colin let out a long, slow breath, then said, “This blade was forged in hell by an ancient demon called Azerius.”
Cole barked out a laugh. “Just when I thought there might be a dull moment around here, you Redthornes gotta kick it up another notch.”
“Colin, how did you come to know this?” Dorian asked.
“It’s only a hypothesis, but…” He set the book on the slab, then rummaged excitedly through one of the stacks of journals until he found what he was looking for. “Father’s journals spoke of a cure for demons—a weapon that would essentially strip a demon’s essence from his vessel and trap it for eternity. The journals are cryptic at best—the fanatical rantings of a madman at worst—and I’d assumed the weapon he referred to was an actual formula, not unlike the one he synthesized to cure vampirism.”
“Isn’t it?” Aiden asked.
“I think the weapon, in this case, may be literal.” Colin flipped open the journal and pointed to a passage in the center. “Many of his entries have odd references to ravens, like this one: ‘The wing of the raven shall cure the darkness as surely as the sunrise cures the night.’” He flipped past a few pages, then read, “‘Black as a demon’s heart, forged in the very same darkness, the raven’s gift is the key to its demise.’ There are literallyhundredsof notations like this.” Colin set the journal back onto the stack, then grabbed the anatomy book he’d left behind. “At first, I couldn’t decipher whether raven wings were part of the formulary, or a metaphor, or some other clue. I set aside that mystery in order to work on re-creating the vampire cure, but when Charlotte mentioned the raven’s wing, I recalledthisbook.”
He held it up so they could see the cover.
“Corvidae: Anatomy and Physiology,” Dorian read. “What does that have to do with father’s rantings?”
“Corvidae is the family of birds that includes the raven.” Colin gestured around the lab. “In all of the anatomy and medical books father brought back here, this is theonlyone that doesn’t deal specifically with humans.”
“So?”
“Father didn’t study birds, Dorian, oranyanimals for that matter. He was obsessed with humans. Always.” Colin’s eyes had taken on the crazed appearance of the very madman they were discussing, sweeping the rest of them up in the majestic wonder of it all. “Yet consider the name he bestowed upon the manor.”
“Ravenswood,” Dorian whispered.
“You yourself thought Father had intended for us to find the blade and the book. Perhaps you were right, and all of this—the journals, the name of our very home—is all part of the trail he left for us to follow. I didn’t want to see it at first, but it’s all here, Dorian. Written on every page, inked over the original text.” He handed the Corvidae book to Dorian. “The first entry was written from the ship, right after we set sail for America.”
Heart pounding in his chest, Dorian opened to the first page, focusing on the black hand-written letters floating above the text.
“At long last the Blade of the Raven King is in my possession,” he read. “Kendrick was a fool to confide in me its purpose and location, but I shan’t make the same mistake. I confide in no one but this very parchment—not even my own sons—not until such time as I deem it necessary for them to know. This alone shall ensure the longevity of our great house.”
“Keep going,” Colin said, his dimples flashing in the dim light of the cavern.
Dorian cleared his throat and continued. “In the darkness that followed the turning of the Redthorne line, for many years did I pray for guidance, yet none heeded my call. Not until the demon Azerius came to me in my dreams did I see the faintest glimmer of hope. The white raven spoke to me thusly: ‘So shall a demon cross your path who shall rid you of your tormentors and allow you to ascend to your rightful position as king in the name of your forebears. In return, he will ask you to retrieve for him a gift befitting the lord of demons. You will retrieve this gift from the manor of your oppressors, but you must never reveal it. For if the Blade of Azerius and the Book of Lost Souls were to fall into the hands of a lesser immortal, chaos shall reign eternal…”
Dorian glanced up from the book, his memory echoing with the words his father spoke the night he’d buried the Mother of Lost Souls and the book in the coffins behind Ravenswood.
A gift befitting the lord of demons—may his eternal reign darken our doorstep only until we’re ready to see the light…
Colin took the book from Dorian’s hands and continued where he’d left off. “The very next evening, the demon Nikolai approached me in the tavern, and after introducing himself as a messenger of Azerius, there we discussed my plight, though he was already well aware of my desperate need.”
“Chernikov,” Dorian said, and Colin nodded.
“Only such a demon,” Colin read, “with the help of his coven of dark witches, could have assisted me in destroying the ruling vampire family that enslaved my line. Yet this help did not come without cost; in return, he demanded the very gift Azerius had spoken of: a blade with the power to cure this world of demons as surely as I might one day cure it of vampires, for a single drop of demonic blood spilled by the raven’s wing shall imprison his essence within it for eternity, never to return to conscious awakening, not even in a human vessel. Used against humans, it shall expel the human soul to hell, creating a demonic vessel requiring neither consent nor contract.”
Colin gasped, his fingers skimming over the words as if he needed to absorb them by touch in order to believe them.
“So lemme get this straight,” Cole said. “Your old man made a deal with Chernikov—via this Azerius dude—to wipe out the ruling vampire family and ascend to the throne?”
