For Whom the Spell Tolls (23 page)

“This is nothing new,” I said quickly. “We’ve dealt with this same scenario a thousand times at the ANC.” I said it mostly to beef up my own confidence.

“And what is Herrod?” Knight asked, facing Quill.

“Herrod is all brawn. He’s a werewolf, but he’s bigger and badder than any wolf you’ve ever seen.”

“That doesn’t intimidate me,” Knight said matter-of-factly.

“Well, maybe their artillery will,” Quill shot back. “Each one will be armed with Op 7s and 8s, not to mention automatic machine guns filled with dragon’s blood bullets. And that’s just what you’ll be able to see. They’ll also have blades strapped to their bodies beneath their clothes. The main thing to remember is that they’re Melchior’s thugs for a reason; they’re exceptional at what they do.”

“Good to know,” Knight said, not sounding particularly concerned. “But Dulce is right. It’s just another walk in a very familiar park.” Then he turned to face me. “When we go in, we go together.”

“And how do you propose getting to the top floor of a windowless turret without going through the entryway of the house?” Quill asked, sounding irritated.

Knight replied with a smug smile. “Last I checked, we had a portal ripper.”

I nodded, pulling Bram’s pocket watch out to pinpoint my father’s exact position inside the house. Before I attempted anything, though, I glanced up at Knight. “You realize my father’s going to know that we know where he is?”

Knight nodded, not looking especially concerned. “Hopefully, we haven’t kept him waiting too long.”

###

After Knight gave his lead soldier the go-ahead to enter Willoughby house, I cut a portal into Melchior’s library. Neither Quill, Knight nor I said anything; and the silence hung ominously between us. Standing on either side of me, the three of us stepped forward, entering the portal.

The feelings of wet, balmy air hit me immediately, and I clenched my eyes tightly, suddenly feeling sick to my stomach. Moments later, though, the nausea disappeared and the air became frigid. I opened my eyes and felt myself falling. My wings immediately started flapping wildly to stop me from hitting the ground. Knight and Quill weren’t as lucky. Knight smashed into a large, black desk that occupied the center of the room; while Quill fell against a bookshelf in front of the desk.

I didn’t have the time nor the wherewithal to take in much, but I scanned the perimeter of the small room anyway. I took in the bookshelves that lined the walls, as well as the desk that Knight so adeptly snapped in two. In only a split second, I realized we weren’t alone in my father’s library. My eyes focused on a beefy man, looming in the doorway, right behind the bookshelf Quill had bashed into.

“Quill, behind you!” I screamed as I watched the man turn his scowl toward Quill. My ability to differentiate creatures didn’t work in the Netherworld, so I wasn’t sure if this was the wolf or the goblin. Either way, he was enormous—well over six feet. With his unshaven face and longish, greasy, matted hair, he looked as if he hadn’t bathed in weeks. His nose was incredibly wide and uneven, probably broken too many times, and one half of his right ear was missing.

“Beaurigard, you double-crossing son of a bitch,” the man bellowed as he rushed forward from maybe ten feet away. Silver daggers shone from both of his hands, and he was missing a finger on his left hand. Quill turned in a split second, though he was still sitting on the floor, and pushed against the ground with his heels, trying to put some distance between the man and himself. Careening into the bookshelf behind him, Quill pulled his Op 8 from the holster around his waist. He fired twice and both bullets hit the man in the center of his chest. He was dead before he hit the ground. 

I continued to hover, unable to convince my wings to allow my feet to touch the ground. Unfortunately, there wasn’t anything close at hand that I could use to tether myself. Instead, I just snapped my head to the left and right, trying to get a quick recon of what we were up against. There was no sign of my father, and as far as I could see, only these two thugs, one down and one to go. The one to go was already brawling with Knight. The two looked pretty well matched when it came to brawn, both huffing rhythmically as they faced one another with contempt. From the looks of the shiner already forming underneath Knight’s eye, he’d obviously suffered a blow. I wondered why he didn’t just pull his Op 8 from his holster, but decided he must have wanted to fight the old-fashioned way.

I scanned the room again for any sign of my father or the warlock Quill warned us about. But it seemed there wasn’t anyone else in the room. Looking above me, I noticed the library had a second floor that overlooked the first, with more rows of bookshelves lining the walls. But the second floor was also clear.

Somehow, my father must have been forewarned of our attack. He must have known we were coming and fled. I reached inside my pocket for my Melchior GPS device, but before I could pull it out to locate the bastard, I heard the sound of fists meeting flesh. I glanced at Knight, who fell into a bookshelf behind him, after sustaining an incredibly powerful blow. The shelf snapped beneath his weight, sending him, as well as twenty or more books, tumbling onto the floor.

Regarding the thug, I assumed he was the were, Herrod, because he seemed especially hairy and unkempt. More so than the previous thug was. This guy was also immense—built like a wall, thick and wide. Within a split second, he validated my hunch as the man’s face began to change. His eyes started to migrate to the center of his face while widening and their color changed to a jaundiced yellow. His nose stretched, growing darker and wetter as it morphed into a snout. Fur began covering his cheeks and chin, overtaking the rest of his face. His human teeth fell onto the floor and much larger, sharper canines replaced them. But that was just his face. Observing his body, I noticed his rib cage seemed to double in size as the sounds of snapping bones accompanied the transformation. His back began to hunch, forcing his abdomen upward and inward. Then a bushy tail emerged from his already shredded pants. His arms elongated while his hands and feet stretched. Razor sharp claws materialized on his fingers and toes. The remnants of his clothing lay in shredded fibers at his feet.

Knight didn’t waste any time waiting for the werewolf’s change to finish. Instead, he pummeled the were’s face and sent the abomination flying into the back wall. It fell into another bookshelf, spraying splinters and books through the room like a tornado. As soon as the creature pushed itself up, it had morphed completely into a wolf.

“Come and get me, you ugly son of a bitch,” Knight taunted. He held his hands out by his sides and stared at the gargantuan beast with no trepidation in his eyes. Reaching for my Op 6s, which were strapped to my waist beneath my shirt, I watched the creature jump on Knight. When Knight gripped its arms and rolled over, I realized I couldn’t get a clean shot—if I tried, I could just as easily miss the wolf and nail Knight instead.

I eyed Quill, who was already on his feet and staring at me, no doubt trying to figure out how to get me down. It seemed like slow motion as he reached for me, when he suddenly pulled back and gripped his throat like he were choking on something.

“I,” he started, still staring at me. “I can’t breathe!”

Clawing at his neck, he fell back against the wall as if something were stuck in his throat preventing him from catching his breath. His face started to grow paler as his eyes widened first with fear, and then, panic.

“Quill!” I screamed out, suddenly feeling my wings beating as they took me further and further away from him.

Quill continued to tear at his throat and then leaned over, his hands on his thighs. A few seconds later, he collapsed onto the floor, the color completely drained from his skin. I realized then that he was under the influence of magic. And magic could only mean one thing—that bastard sorcerer was somewhere in the room. Looking back at Quill, I noticed his arms hanging limply by his sides. The need to assist him infiltrated me with an increased sense of urgency and I desperately tried to figure out how the hell I could descend from my ridiculous altitude. I glanced at Quill again. His eyes were closed. Panic spiraled up inside me as I searched for any sign of the warlock, Angus.

Dropping my hands to my waist, I palmed my Op 6s, and pulled them from their holsters, still searching the room. But I couldn’t see anything. I wheeled around to my right and left, but found only a destroyed library. My wings continued to beat wildly, carrying me even higher.

Suddenly, a stinging sensation began brewing at the base of my neck. It felt like a very bad sore throat. It soon began to penetrate the entire length of my neck, no doubt the same discomfort that had attacked Quill, rendering him either unconscious or dead. The burning started to dissolve, but left me feeling that my neck was swelling, and restricting my airway. Dropping both of my guns, I didn’t even comprehend what I was doing as I brought my hands to my throat instinctively. The guns banged against the ground, and I recognized my mistake instantly, but all I could do was grip my neck, and try to squeeze some air into my lungs. My throat was swelling so much that I could only rasp, and even that ability was quickly dissipating. My wings finally slowed their incessant beating and only flapped every few seconds, allowing me to slowly float to the ground. I continued clawing at my neck, and opening my mouth wide to inhale, but it was useless. When my toes touched the ground, I collapsed against a nearby bookshelf. Then I was confronted by a large-skulled, bald man with a pencil neck and shoulders that were narrower than mine. He must have been invisible earlier, but was now clearly out in the open, and standing before me. He was also clearly the warlock.

“A beautiful fairy,” he said with elation, while holding his hands (palms facing me) before him, emitting his power.

His eyes were huge, like disks in his otherwise smallish face, and his nose was long and pointy. It matched his sharp chin. His body was the size of a ten-year-old and he was probably no taller than I was. He narrowed his eyes while he studied me, his face finally lighting up with jubilance.

“A fairy,” he repeated again, his eyes glazing over with passion. “It’s true what they say about your kind.”

While I wasn’t sure what “they” said about my kind, I
was
reminded of the power I carried in the Netherworld. Yep, I still had sexual fairy crack that I could turn to. Not that I wanted to, but when I noticed my guns lying uselessly on the floor, I realized they weren’t my only option to defend myself. Regardless, I didn’t possess enough strength to reach for them. Even if I tried, I knew the warlock would, no doubt, fortify his magical attack, and where would that leave me? Probably dead. I looked past him and saw that Knight was still involved with the were, although neither one looked to be gaining any ground.

“He can’t help you,” the warlock announced in a nasal, high-pitched voice. “He can’t even see us.”

So, my hunch was right. The little bastard had made himself invisible before and now he was doing the same, only to both of us. Yep, any way I looked at it, I had no choice but to use my fairy crack. I forced my hands from my neck and ran them through my hair, offering the warlock my best bedroom eyes. His eyes widened as he continued to stare at me, hunger dripping from his expression. He was very obviously about to become ensnared in my trap.

Don’t give up now, Dulce
, I thought to myself.
You’ve almost got him!

Strangely enough, my next thought was of Bram, and how he’d manipulated me by using his powers of vampire persuasion. I remembered how expertly he’d made me do and be something I wasn’t. And even though I hated Bram, I recognized the valuable lesson he’d taught me. I realized that I now had the power to do the same.

“I,” I gasped, trying to talk even though I couldn’t get any air. My voice was barely a whisper. I trailed my finger down to my lips, hoping I had enough air left to maintain my charade. If I passed out, it would all be over. This bastard would do whatever he chose to with me, and then who knew what would happen? No, I absolutely had to stay alert so I could see my plan to fruition.

The warlock continued to gaze at me as I stared into his eyes, running my tongue across my lips. I used my best body language to say, “I want you to make love to me.” His hands began to drop, even though his fingers were still actively splayed and his magic was still in effect. The strangulation in my throat began to ease slightly, even though I still couldn’t take in a full breath. Once the warlock dropped his hands a little lower, I managed to catch a shallow breath.

Seeing the little bastard’s eyes glued to mine, I pursed my lips before running my finger across them. Nearing the grand finale, I dipped my finger inside my mouth, staring at the hideous creature sensuously. The warlock stared at me with ravenous hunger in his eyes and dropped his hands to his side. As soon as he did so, I inhaled fully and I took in so much oxygen, I thought I might pass out. Trying to stay conscious, I continued to gaze at the man, knowing the game was far from over. I had to maintain my act, lest the little cretin snap out of it.

“What do you want?” I whispered, tracing the outline of my breasts above my shirt as I batted my eyelashes at him.

He laughed. “Isn’t it obvious?” he asked in his nasal tone. “I want you, my little sexpot.”

I giggled, or did my best version of one, because as a rule, Dulcie O’Neil didn’t giggle. Hoping the time for giggling would soon be over, I glanced out of the corner of my eye to inquire how Knight was faring. I could see the shape of the wolf, lying in a heap on the ground, and Knight standing above him. The Loki turned to face me and we made eye contact which meant the warlock had ceased his invisibility charm. Knight just watched me for a few seconds, as if trying to understand what the hell I was doing. But then he apparently got it, because he began approaching us stealthily, as if trying to be as quiet as possible.

“If you want me,” I continued, spearing the warlock with my full attention. “Tell me what you want to do to me.” I finished, trying to channel Marilyn Monroe. I had to keep the little bastard’s attention while Knight came up behind him.