Cirrian didn’t have my complete trust. I wanted to give it but recognized that his priority was releasing the lycanthropes and fulfilling a tacit promise to Goddess Annessa.
My startled gasp filled the room when my hand vibrated faintly on the book. Cirrian’s brows drew together.
“Is that good or bad?” I asked.
He shrugged. “I don’t know.” He looked over the book again, apprehension in his frown.
“Let’s do it.” I closed my eyes, tensed my body, and held my hands balled at my sides preparing for the “blunt demolition.”
Instead of violent magic, a soft kiss pressed to my cheek. My eyes popped open. “Keep them open,” he urged. “I need to read them.”
He spoke the words in a melodic rhythm, making the unfamiliar language feel like a ballad, and that was the only thing beautiful about it. Magic barreled into me, knocking the wind out of me. It wracked my body, jostling it as if it were a vessel descending bumpy terrain. It knocked me to the ground, where I stayed.
“Kara.” Cirrian kneeled next to me. Closing my eyes, I took several slow breaths, seeking a comfort that would slow my pounding heart. Cirrian’s eyes were a black abyss. He closed them, and when they opened, their amber hue had returned.
“I hate delving into archaic magic.”
It felt like kismet, sharing the same disdain for the spell and, it appeared, the chaotic response to it.
“How do you feel?”
Taking inventory of my body, I searched for any changes. Power. Thrumming of magic. Warmth. Nothing.
Whispering several spells I’d heard from Amelia, I tried to move objects in the room. Nothing. Taking a spellbook off the bookcase, I chose a simple warding spell that only required a strand of hair or blood. No shimmer of magic or flash of color to show that it was engaged. I shook my head.
After disclosing that the first spell was the strongest and the most likely to work, Cirrian’s dwindling optimism could be seen in the execution of the other two spells; the magic potency felt like a light trickle compared to the thunderstorm of the first.
He smiled, a thin and resigned one. “We need to go to the basement.”
21
The basement.Cirrian had described it casually, but nothing could have prepared me for the ominous dread I felt going through this house of horrors. We stopped in front of a beautifully paneled wall. Cirrian pressed something I couldn’t see, and the wall swung open, revealing sheets of darkness. When he flicked the switch, clawlike metal fixtures cast an eerie amber glow as if warning us away. The final caution to change course. Everything about Diehle’s home was casual caution, designed to make you feel foolish for continuously ignoring the warnings.
My hands wrapped tightly around the wrought-iron rails, and I welcomed the heat of Cirrian’s body behind me as we descended the stairs. Halfway down, he gave my shoulder a warm reassuring squeeze that made it easier to disregard the fatigue settling into me.
The air in the basement was a cool heady mixture of scents: stone, dried herbs, and something metallic—which I hoped wasn’t blood. Cirrian looked for more lighting but found none.
Out of deference to his death, I withheld my comment about Diehle being unnecessarily extra. The basement wasn’t any different. He’d abandoned modern comforts for the utilitarianlook of a dungeon. Stone walls, concrete flooring, and two weathered leather-bound chairs with metal frames that were the only seating available. A table held vellum, strips of fabric that appeared to be linen, uniquely shaped vessels containing oddly colored liquid, and small stoneware bowls with lids hiding the contents. Scents of tannin came from one and sage from another. Drawn to the sigils burned into the floor that pulsed faintly as if to a heartbeat, I pressed my hand to my chest and felt it move in time. Magic that prevailed even when the source was dead made everything about the room terrifying.
“It’s how they navigate their realm,” Cirrian explained.
“If they have their own realm, why are they in ours?”
“Theirs is filled with other demons and this one isn’t. A predator is nothing without its prey.”
Tidbit after tidbit of reasons why staying away from demons was essential.
“Is there anything that can be done to keep another demon from moving in?”
“This is not my realm. I make my collections and I observe. An amused observer. You aren’t the rule but the exception I made because our interests aligned.”
I stared at him, realizing he was an extension of everything that Diehle’s home represented. Predation. Diablerie. Insidious bargains. And hierarchy of power.
“Thanks,” I whispered, moving toward the spellbooks.
“For what?” He moved just as quickly as I had to devour the space I’d placed between us.
“The reminder.” The chill in my voice mimicked the room. Cirrian considered me for several moments before tearing his eyes from me. I wasn’t sure if it was a concession or dismissal. He moved to the wooden pedestals that held three closed books on each.
