Invoked Page 10

  Chapter Eight

  A noise woke Nea. She bolted upright in bed to listen. With a frown, she slid out from under the covers to pull on her robe over her bra and panties. On the landing, she listened hard. Gregor hadn’t hailed her and neither had Hilda, so the noise hadn’t disturbed them.

  That sound again, like a scratching at the window. She slowly descended to the ground floor. It was dark and she groped her way around carefully, not wanting to switch on the light in case she woke the others. Out of the back sliding door she saw that there was no moon, and the lake was liquid night. There was nothing out of the ordinary as far as she could tell.

  As she was near the kitchen, she decided to put the kettle on, using the light on the rangehood to find a cup and the tea. The ward was up, she told herself. Nothing to worry about. She was just unsettled. It had to be the wind throwing leaves against a window, that was all.

  The disturbance was not repeated. Letting herself grow calm, Nea poured the water into her mug and added some milk.

  With her teacup in hand, she made her way back to the stairs. The scratching sounded again from the front door, louder and sharper than previously. She squinted in the dark. There was a thud. The whole house shook to its foundations. Her tea sloshed onto the carpet as she made to grab the wall to steady herself. Something had hit the house. She reeled. Was that an earthquake?

  ‘Grandpa?’

  Still no sound from him. They must have had a good time. Then she detected his awareness and Hilda’s, too.

  Her mind ran through the possibilities. There were old coal mines in the area and sometimes there had been tremors and even sinkholes appearing—a perfectly rational and non-magical reason for the house to tremble and groan.

  Calming down, Nea tried to soak up the spilt tea with a tissue, and then her feelings of unease grew again. Sending her senses into the land around her, she could detect nothing unusual. It appeared whole. But it had been something. She put her cup and the tea-soaked tissue on the hall table and then went towards the front door.

  A door opened behind her.

  ‘Don’t!’ Gregor called, pulling on a sweater. Hilda had pulled on track pants and an old T-shirt. They started down the hall towards her.

  A dull, rhythmic scraping sounded at the front, as if something was trying to dig its way in. She stood and faced the door, a scream begging to climb out of her throat.

  The door imploded and she fell back. She heard Gregor’s yell and Hilda’s scream. Magic crackled around her. Drew was there, looming above her, several men bristling with anger and aggression beside and behind him. In the dazzle, she couldn’t tell if they were folk or not. All the power centred on Drew, his sneer ever-present.

  ‘Royston. Feeble old man. Go back to your bed. I’ve come for Nea, not you.’

  Nea was sprawled on the floor in the hall. ‘Me?’ She scampered back towards her grandfather on her hands and knees.

  A rope of power caught her around the feet. ‘Stay where you are, whore.’

  Gregor thundered out a slap of power. It crackled, and forks of it hit Drew. At first he struggled, and then he lifted a hand and flung it back. Hilda was repelled, hitting her head on the banister before falling unconscious to the floor. Gregor checked her with a quick glance and then stepped forward. ‘Keep coming back to me, Nea. I’ll not let him take you.’

  Nea tried to move but Drew’s power held her tight. Drew stepped farther down the hall. He’d shredded Gregor’s ward. That had to have hurt Gregor, drained his power somewhat.

  Drew tilted his head, his dark eyes assessing. ‘I see the fabric of you, Royston. Pris was right. You are more bluff than bone.’ He made a fist and let go a powerful thrust. Nea watched Gregor’s body curve as the force hit him and then lifted him to smash against the wall. Gregor sagged, blood trickling down his forehead. Nea gaped at Drew.

  He turned towards her. ‘Now you.’ His fist of power punched her between the eyes.

  ***

  A shot of alarm ran through Earl, a zap of electricity making him instantly alert. It took a second for him to register what it was that had stirred him right to the core.

  The compulsion spell had evaporated, just like that. Something had happened to Gregor. He reached out and found the thread of Nea. Nea was afraid. Her heart raced, and her breathing was ragged. Her mind was filled with shock, with horror, with aversion.

  It was but a moment and he was on his way. At the house, Gregor’s powerful ward had been cracked open like an oyster shell, a gaping slit through the centre of the house, starting from the front door.

  Earl instinctively went to rush forward and then stilled. Voices leaked out the front door, and then he detected movement. The dark warlock came out, with another lesser warlock carrying Nea who was draped unconscious over his shoulders, her arms over her head. A trickle of blood danced on her forehead. The dark one had struck her down.

  Rage overcame Earl, but he banked himself back to nothing but the essence of himself to pass undetected. The dark one looked in his direction, squinting into the night. Earl stood still, reining in the emotion he’d let surface as he gazed on Nea. He had to work hard to pretend he wasn’t there. If the dark one detected and attacked him now, he’d be no use to her.

  The dark one looked away and the moment of Earl’s demise was postponed. He would survive to help Nea somehow.

  He could only watch on in terror as she passed within inches of him and then was bundled into a waiting car. What could he do? He had to get help. That meant making an effort to talk to someone else.

  He wanted to follow, but waited. Drew was still there, still scenting the air as if he suspected something. There was nothing Earl could do on his own. He knew where they were taking her. The dark one was always there, always coming to see Pris, to learn, to steal knowledge, spells, power. He wondered why Pris couldn’t see it. Surely after all these years she could see herself in another.

  Drew nodded to one of his assistants, the one who had carried Nea’s unconscious body. ‘Luke, get in the car with her and Jet will drive you to the house.’

  With a nod, Luke slid into the back seat of the car, pushing Nea’s legs out of his way. A tall, fair-haired man opened the driver-side door and turned the engine over, and the car sped off in a screech of tyres. Drew sneered as she was driven away, then he turned back to the house, and a grin quirked the corner of his mouth.

  ‘Now to really fuck with them,’ he said to his remaining companion. Earl could see he’d driven a wedge into the ward and levered it apart. It was a strong ward, but Drew had found a way around it, bending its power in another direction rather than breaking it down completely. That would have delayed Gregor sensing it but left him with power, unless Drew had other means of draining the old warlock. He’d experienced the old man’s power when he’d been banished so it had to be something like that.

  Earl studied the wedge. Theoretically, if it was repaired anyone visiting would be convinced the ward was still doing its job. They wouldn’t render aid.

  Drew laughed, and the sound chilled Earl. The warlock turned to his companion. ‘When I’ve consumed Nea, I’m coming back for Gregor. Then I’ll be stronger than the old witch. You’ll see, Simon.’

  ‘Why not take him now?’ Simon urged.

  ‘I’ll do him later. I have a night full of plans right now. He isn’t going anywhere.’

  ‘You fucked ’em up good.’

  Earl was terrified. Drew knew how Pris stayed young and grew her power. He’d been her victim. Drew had followers, those dissatisfied with rules and drawn to someone like him, someone who could provide direction, create havoc, give them satisfaction. This was serious.

  Earl picked up Drew’s thought: Bethanea Royston so full of life, fit to be drained.

  Earl could do nothing by himself, even though every second Nea spent in Drew’s clutches, he ached with worry.

  Tension in the air alerted him to the dark warlock sealing up the breach in the ward. Earl was awed by the skill of
it as he hastily placed himself inside its boundaries. From the inside and he guessed outside, too, there was no trace of the breach. That was some feat.

  Drew walked off into the night to climb into the car that would take him to Pris’s house. Earl was sure that was where they were going. Nea was in grave danger. The dark warlock had no love in him. He was an empty space, a void that drew everything inside. Earl feared that it would extinguish Nea’s light and that thought was unbearable. The struggle over what to do was excruciating.

  ‘Come on, Simon. You drive,’ Drew said as he opened the passenger door.

  The other man nodded, climbed in and revved the engine. Earl gaped as the car with Drew in it sped off.

  A keening sounded erupted from within the house. It was the older witch. The ward wavered as the power sustaining it faltered.

  Earl sped inside. The older witch was leaning over Gregor, crying and trying to wake him.

  Earl conjured an image of himself so she could see him, could talk to him. She tensed, then focused her gaze on him. ‘It’s you.’

  ‘Yes,’ he replied. ‘I’m Earl.’

  ‘They’ve taken, Nea.’ She sobbed, clutching at the unconscious warlock. ‘Gregor is hurt bad.’

  ‘He has Nea. You must get help. Come now and take her back from him.’

  Hilda shook her head, tears dripping from the corners of her eyes. ‘There’s no time. You must go after them yourself. Save her.’

  Panic sped through him, making his conjuring waver. ‘How can I?’

  Tears sped down Hilda’s cheeks, her hands running over Gregor as she assessed his injuries. ‘If you love her, you will find a way. It’s been done before. If you’re not dead, then you must be alive.’

  She can’t mean that. I am without substance. Useless!

  ‘Please,’ he begged. ‘Help Nea. Help me.’

  Hilda sobbed openly as she crawled laboriously to the phone. Shaking her head and almost sagging, she lifted the receiver. Puzzled, Earl listened as she called an ambulance. Why was she so slow? Why wasn’t she helping him? Then when that call was done she called one of the other councillors, her voice low and feathery. She was using all of her will to keep talking, to make her instructions clear. It was taking too long.

  Hilda lay down on the floor and looked up at him, her cheeks sagging and her eyes closing with fatigue. ‘Why are you still here?’ she said, her voice barely above a whisper.

  ‘I can’t save her on my own. You must come to Pris’s house.’

  ‘I can’t. He drained me.’ Her fingers walked to Gregor’s hand and held it. ‘Go, please. Go now. Help Nea.’ Then her eyes closed. ‘I’ll send the others when they come.’

  Earl had no choice. He had to try. Inside, his anger and frustration warred together. This shouldn’t be happening. There should be others more able than him to rescue her. He would not wish his fate on anyone, least of all his beautiful Nea.

  Chapter Nine

  He was at Pris’s house, out on the street. The usual defensive wards were down. This gave him pause. Were they down because Drew had torn them down or because those inside wanted to pretend that no one was there? No cars were out front. Maybe his followers had dropped them, rather than joining in with the ritual. There was no time for hesitation. A delay could be the difference between life or death.

  On the porch, he looked for a way in. There was a gap in the seal in the window; the whole house was rundown. Surely Pris lived somewhere else and used this place for rituals these days.

  As he slid through the cladding and the window frame, he entered the dank front room. Water damage patched the ceiling with brown stains and spots of rotting carpet revealed bare floorboards beneath. It had been cosy and whole in his time. His gaze passed over the tapestry-covered armchair and matching chaise, the upholstery holey and smattered with black mould stains.

  Moving to the hallway, Earl made his way to the back of the house, ignoring the crumpled newspapers and the skittering feet of mice that scrambled out of his way, reacting to his presence even though he wasn’t there, not really there. He knew where to go. He knew the door that the stairs hid behind. It was the last place he wanted to be.

  He dared not reach out with his talent in case the dark folk detected it. He thought perhaps Drew had done so near Gregor’s house but couldn’t be sure. Thank the Goddess that Hilda had been able to speak with him within his conjured image, because he was invisible otherwise. He was so insubstantial he should be able pass unseen by those with the talent provided he kept himself controlled. Drew had talent. Too much of it, but Earl had to risk it.

  He slid down the stairs, his presence not making the decaying wood creak. Light leaked from under the door. It was the door to the place where his life had ended. He couldn’t stop, even though it held a confronting memory—the moment of his greatest mistake, the moment his life had ended. Having to face it, he passed through.

  In the basement room with walls draped in faded red fabric sat the back of the old-fashioned dentist chair. A shudder ran through him at the sight of it. As he moved around the room, he saw that an unconscious Nea lay there, her shoulders, hands, waist and ankles strapped down.

  There was movement, men coupling. Drew’s chest was bare and he did up his fly as he pulled out of the other man. The man, Luke, who had accompanied Drew earlier, fell forward to lay across the floor, naked and with blood welling from a small cut to his throat. Totally absorbed in his ritual, the warlock didn’t even look in Earl’s direction. Drew’s chant hung in the air as he knelt and sucked at the man’s blood, draining the life force from the younger and weaker warlock. The victim moaned, struggled feebly, trying to push Drew away. Drew grabbed him by the hair and wrenched his head back, causing the wound to gape open. Rich blood pumped out and Drew slurped at it loudly, hungrily.

  Earl could taste the power of the blood, and the words of the ritual that hovered in the air that bound together to feed the dark one. Life drained from the young warlock. Death lurked in his grey eyes and pale cheeks and in his stilled expression—half agony, half fear.

  Drew had stolen Pris’s ritual. He’d lured this warlock by some means, seduced him, and then stolen his life. Nea was trussed and ready to be his next victim.

  Drew was already powerful. Sucking Nea’s life force would make him unstoppable. Unlike Pris, who used it to stay young, Drew had other plans. He was darker even than the old witch. He had a purpose—a deadly purpose.

  Overcome with horror, Earl backed away, the scene before him sparking flashbacks to his own demise. He couldn’t fight this. He just couldn’t. Drew was already too powerful. Hilda had to be crazy to think he could. His gaze rested on Nea, on her still face, her freckled button nose and pale pink lips. Lips he longed to kiss. The blonde of her hair draped over the side of the chair, a finger of blood staining one side. He couldn’t fight this.

  Drew lifted away from his victim, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. He was even stronger now. His flesh glowed with power. Earl was sick to his heart to see it.

  Unable to stop himself, he peered into the dead warlock’s flesh. He was definitely fully drained. There was nothing left as there had been with Earl. For a moment, Earl thought that maybe Nea would live like him after Drew drained her and join him in his half-life. They’d be together forever. He’d no longer be lonely. The idea was tantalising and seductive, but there was no guarantee she’d be like him, alive but not alive. His own survival had been a fluke. Pris hadn’t noticed that part of him lived before she threw his corpse away. There had been no others like him in the intervening years.

  Drew was more likely to end her completely. There was a thoroughness to him that left Earl in little doubt. Nea wasn’t even conscious. How could she fight him like that?

  He remembered that night, when the dark witch had drained him of life. Pris had fucked him, taking him to the edge of ecstasy—kisses soaked in power, washing over him like a drug. He was too young and too blind to see what she was doing. It was all abou
t his cock, the intense knot of pleasure she unlocked, piece by piece, but taking his will with each burst of passion, with each degree of increase in pleasure. He had been obsessed with her—the power, the beauty, the sex. She’d lifted a finger and he’d come crawling. She’d tied him up and whipped him until he’d begged for more. The images and memories flooded into him.

  Earl retreated slowly to a dark corner of the room, drawing his essence in and quieting himself, wary that any swift movement would attract attention. Drew would be distracted while absorbing the other warlock’s power, but also the ritual would have honed every sense, every nerve, every tendril of his talent.

  Hunched over, Drew wept as he absorbed the power from the other warlock, incorporating it into his flesh. His naked upper body shuddered and writhed. Then he cried out as he tugged the very last bit of essence into himself, culminating in a climax that left Drew sweating and gasping and his eyes rolling up in his head.

  While Drew was still exhilarating in his new power, Nea came to. Her hands jerked, then her foot twitched. Her head rolled from side to side. Earl had prayed she would stay unconscious. He would not like to feel her terror or have her experience what he had gone through.

  If Earl had tears they’d be flowing right now. Oh Nea. I’m so sorry I can’t protect you. He reached outside, trying to see if any members of the coven were close, whether help was on its way. But there was nothing. Nea was alone except for him.

  The thought of her bright light absorbed by such a dark one made him tremble down in his soul. He was surprised he could still say he had one but he did. He feared for Nea.

  Earl’s anger speared into him. Oh, that I wasn’t a useless remnant of my former self. I’d crush this boy, this upstart drowning in his own darkness.

  Suddenly, Nea screamed. Drew had not bothered to gag her. Her head jerked around as she struggled, trying to kick her legs and twist her arms free. Being strapped to that dentist chair restricted her movements. Energy crackled around her.