AllFreeNovel
Share Us
“Give me your hand.” She stared toward the sea, and as I watched the waves began to roil like something vast was surging there.
“Let go,” Iggy whispered from somewhere behind me. “Trust.”
Those two acts weren’t high on my skill set, but I needed to know that there was a chance to defeat Chester. I needed to locate this weapon. The alternative was my death. Eli’s death. Beatrice’s death. Iggy’s death.
I let my gravesight roll out, and when I saw that the dead had been summoned from the sea, I paused. “What are they here for . . .?”
“Truly?” Beatrice murmured at my side. “I certainly don’tshovel.”
“The people are leaving, bonbon.” Eli held my gaze. “Foolish mortals, afraid of the beautiful witches at the edge of the sea . . .”
I glanced back and saw the rest of the visitors leaving early. “Aren’t they going to kick us out?”
“This is Scotland, Geneviève,” Eli said lightly. “They were aware of the fae before the rest of the world even knew our kind existed, and undoubtedly, they recognize us. Theheirson their site? Blessing their soil with protection, they—”
“But we aren’t doing that,” I objected.
“We are.” Eli assured me. “After we retrieve the weapon, we are going to bless this site and ask the sea to let this site remain intact even during storms.”
My panic receded at his words, and resolute now, I returned my gaze to the sea. We had summoned drowned sailors and pirates, Vikings and Picts, explorers and innocents.
I joined my magic to Beatrice’s.
Wake for us,I beckoned.Come to shore.
And it was a heady feeling, one I wish I had time to explore more leisurely. First, though, I needed to find a weapon.
16
ELI
Eli had known magic since his oldest recollection. In fact, until he’d leftElphame,he’d not known any person without it. Knowing didn’t change his response to seeing Geneviève summon the dead. His magic, fae magic, was the stuff of life—of summoning plants and connecting to soil. It was nurturing of those things already breathing, be it plant or creature, but Geneviève brought faux life to the dead.
Perhaps, in some way, it was not so different. To him, though, it was a marvelous thing to witness. Seeing her ancestor, not breathing but animate and sentient as if alive, at her side doing the same magic only added to the fascination he felt.
The sea was frothing, as if a great storm was coming. Waves curled in on themselves as if kelpies rose from the depths, but it was not water horses that came. It was the reanimated dead.
The first man ashore was clad in modern garb, a recent death of some sort. His gashes and tattered clothing vanished as the witches’ magic reknitted skin and cloth. Then several others like him stepped out of the sea. Next came fishermen, pirates, and finally several Vikings.
This terrifying army of the dead waited for Geneviève’s command—because although it was Beatrice’s idea, Geneviève was the one they watched attentively. She was the necromancer.
“Could such an army destroy Chester?” Eli asked, gaze sliding over the soaked assembly.
Bodies remade themselves as he watched, and for a flicker of a second, Eli understood why Chester feared Geneviève. What she was capable of was terrifying, and should she decide to subjugate the world, she could.
What a glorious queen she would be . . .
“Chester cannot die.” Iggy watched the warriors without a flicker of emotion. “She could have them rip him limb from limb, but he heals from every wound.”
“You know this how?” Eli asked.
Geneviève glanced at Iggy, not replying but the question was clear in her expression.
With a wry smile, Iggy looked at Geneviève and then turned to meet Eli’s gaze briefly. “I tried many a plan to overcome him. I don’t have Geneviève’s raw power, but I am not without experience in fighting him. Quite a few plans met with disaster before my death. Do you think I would suggest hiding if there was a way to kill him? Without this weapon, we are lost.”
Eli repressed a shudder at the thought of the consequences of not finding the missing weapon.
On the beach, Geneviève’s army of the dead, a few with ancient swords that were regaining a glimmer, waited. If they were fully sentient, perhaps some would mutiny. They weren’t though. They were shells of themselves, clarity present to varying degrees depending on how long ago they’d died.
