Eileen Wilks - Ritual Magic

“No.” Drummond came closer. “He cheated. He’s sidhe. What do sidhe do best?”

Her eyes widened. “Illusion.”

“This”—he gestured widely—“this is real to him and me, because we died. But you didn’t .”

That terrible, slicing pain—it had been in her thigh. Not her chest, not her head—

“He had enough power to suck you here, but he can’t keep you. See how he pops here and there, but never gets close? He can’t touch you because you’re still alive and he isn’t, and as long as you don’t believe in him—”

“Believe in the god of chaos?” She snorted. She’d spent her life fighting against chaos. “Not happening. But I—can I get back? How do I get back?”

Drummond grinned again. “You’ve got a heavy hitter of your own. One who operates on your side of things, so she can’t come here, but she can help. She’s waiting to help. Just focus on that bond of yours.”

Lily felt a sudden warmth on her hands and lifted them . . . both rings were glowing, just like Drummond’s did. The engagement ring Rule had given her glowed a soft sunshine yellow, and the toltoi charm on her other hand shone with the moon’s pale white light. She reached out with her mate-sense—and found Rule. He was right beside her. Never mind what her eyes said. She felt him.

She knew what to do. She held out her hand. “Come with me!”

Drummond hesitated. “It won’t work. You can’t—”

“Hurry!” The gray land was starting to fade.

Drummond put his hand in hers. It felt solid and real and warm, and the shock of that rippled through her. She closed her fingers tightly around his and closed her eyes and focused on what the mate bond was telling her . . .

Reality popped like a soap bubble.

She was lying on her back in the dirt—dirt that did not glow—with her leg hurting like fire and Rule beside her and people shouting somewhere, and she knew that here, no time had passed. Because where she’d been there was no time, so she hadn’t really been gone at all. Two Drummonds, both misty white and grinning widely, hovered above her . . . and drifted together, until there was just one. Just one, with a glowing gold band on his left hand.

He gave her a quick salute and faded out.

Lily’s gaze cut to the sleeping man beside her, and beyond him, the lupus who held that damn sleep charm to his chest. She sat up and knocked the man’s hand away. The charm fell off and Rule’s eyes flew open.

Toby screamed.

By the time Lily saw that Friar had Toby around the neck, Rule was on his feet and diving for the enemy who threatened his son.

Friar went ever so slightly fuzzy. Rule’s hands passed right through him. And the knife, that terrible black knife, fell to the ground. Rule scooped Toby up in his arms, patting him frantically. “You’re all right? Are you all right?”

“I’m okay.” Toby’s voice wobbled. “He scared me more than he hurt me. I thought—he cut Lily and I thought—” He clung to his father.

“Lily?” Rule’s head swung toward her.

“I’m okay enough,” she said. “Toby saved my life.”

Friar tipped back his head and howled in frustration. Lily couldn’t hear him, but there was no doubt that was what he did.

Triumph brought a tight grin to Lily’s face. Friar couldn’t hold on to the knife when he was dshatu. That was why he’d stayed solid when they fought. He didn’t dare stay material to fight Rule, though, and he couldn’t take the knife with him when he wasn’t. His clothes, shoes, that gun—all those went out-of-phase with him, but the knife did not. Maybe because it was a named artifact. Maybe it didn’t want to go with him.

Lily clambered to her feet. Her leg was bleeding freely and hurt like blazes, but it held her. “Friar’s still here.” She pointed at him. “He’s gone dshatu , but I see him.”

Cynna yelled, “He’s dshatu ?”

“Yes!” Lily’s head swung that way. The guards had put up their weapons, as Pete had told them to—but other orders remained operative. One guard gripped Cynna’s arms. Another held Julia and Li Qin. And that, she realized, was what some of the shouting had been about. Cynna did not like being restrained.

“Then I’ll exorcise the hell out of him. Om redne ish n’vatta—tol harvatay nil ombrum. Ils sevre— ”

Friar’s eyes widened in sudden fear. He climbed back up on the deck and took off, jumping onto the upper level.

“He’s getting away!” Lily wobbled forward a step.

Cynna chanted faster and louder. It wasn’t Latin. It wasn’t any language Lily knew.

Rule was scowling at her. “Your leg.”

“Hurts, but I don’t think it’s serious.” She peered down at it. The slash was long but shallow, for all that it had nearly persuaded her she was dead.

Rule held Toby in one arm with the boy’s arms wrapped around his neck, but he had another arm. He wrapped it around her and put his face in her hair and breathed in deeply. “I don’t know what the hell has been happening. My father—”

“Is okay. Carl’s holding a sleep charm on him because Pete told him to, or maybe Miriam did, so he can’t not do that. Uh—most everyone can’t move because Miriam told them to stop. Plus, they’re all compelled to obey Pete, and he’s compelled to follow the orders Miriam gave him before she died. And Friar—” She couldn’t see the man anymore. “He seems to be gone.” He’d been heading for the slope, but she’d looked away for a moment. Probably he’d vanished into the darkness . . . unless Cynna really had exorcised him. Would that send him to hell? To the realm where demons lived, anyway. Could Cynna do that to someone who wasn’t a demon? God, she wanted to think so.

Friar had seemed to think it was possible. He’d run like a rabbit. She snorted at the memory, but sobered quickly. Six feet away, a long black knife lay on ground marked by black runes. All around her were lupi frozen in place because they’d been ordered to stop. And Hardy . . . she’d forgotten to check, and no one else was able to move. Maybe he was still alive. “I need to see about Hardy,” she said, pulling free from Rule.

She was too late. She saw that right away. Maybe it had been too late from the moment Friar blasted a hole in Hardy’s chest. Probably. And she couldn’t have done anything differently, but regret squeezed hard at her heart as she looked down on the empty face that had held such life. Hardy looked peaceful still . . . but dead. No more songs.

Rule had come up onto the deck with her, still holding Toby. He was asking Pete exactly what his orders from Miriam consisted of. Good. If they knew what they had to work around, maybe they could figure out a way—

“Halt!” someone called from the upper deck.

Oh, good, more company.

“Who or what is it?” Rule demanded.

“The Queen of Winter sends us here, with Isen Turner’s permission,” a man called back from somewhere farther up the slope. “Winter and the one you call Sam.”

“Let—” Rule stopped. Scowled. “Pete, tell him to let the Queen’s people pass.”

Apparently that didn’t contradict Miriam’s orders, because Pete repeated it. A few minutes later a man and a woman jumped down onto the upper deck. They looked oddly alike—brother and sister, maybe? Both were tall and rangy. He was darker; she was more striking, with an angular face, a stern blade of a nose, and warm brown hair pulled back in a braid. She wore a long tunic, a heavily embroidered vest that reached her knees, and baggy pants tucked into boots, all in shades of brown and gold. The tunic was belted in brown leather; a knife-size scabbard hung from the belt, partly hidden by the vest.