Stone Cold Lover (25 page)

“We’re nearly there, aren’t we?” Wynn asked unnecessarily. “I can feel it.”

Spar touched Fil’s arm. “Stay close to me.”

She had no plans to argue with that. She could feel a serious case of the creeps coming on.

After only a couple more minutes, Fill pushed through a thick stand of fir trees and stumbled into a small open area, not even ten feet in diameter. It looked less like a clearing and more like a bald patch, a scar left behind by a fallen tree, which would explain the odd mess in the center of the space.

It couldn’t technically be called a stump, since the tree—a fairly massive maple, she guessed—obviously hadn’t been cut down. She didn’t know if it had rotted until the trunk could no longer support its weight, or if it had been struck by lightning or toppled in a storm, but judging by the uneven spikes of wood sticking up out of the churned-up earth, it hadn’t gone down quietly. It almost looked like it had been ripped from the ground by some angry giant, and wasn’t that a comforting thought to be popping into her head? As if demons and demon worshippers hadn’t given her enough to worry about.

“Right here,” Wynn breathed close behind her. “Can you see it?”

Fil wished she could say no.

A miasma hung low to the ground, only a few inches beyond the ruined remains of the maple tree. For some reason, Fil had thought that if she spotted something like this, it would take the shape of a person, like a magical chalk outline of the spot where a victim had lain. Instead, she saw thick, disquieting tendrils of greenish black, the color of healing bruises or rotted flesh. They twined around one of the wooden spikes, beneath the carpet of fallen leaves, and up again into the air. The tip of one waved, as if stirred by a breeze, only there was no breeze this deep inside the forest, and the motion looked more like an animal sniffing out prey than an innocently swaying plant frond.

“I see it.”

Spar grumbled. “We should take a look around in case any physical evidence remains. I trust the human authorities were thorough, but it is better to check for ourselves.”

They split up to section off the ground. Fil made a point of staying away from the foul area near the trunk. She decided to begin at the edge of the clearing and work her way in toward the center. Picking up a stick, she began to search the ground, poking at rocks and shifting aside piles of leaves to be sure nothing hid underneath. She worked quickly, since they did not want to linger too long this evening. She didn’t really anticipate finding anything.

She didn’t think any of them would, so when Wynn made a startled noise, she expected to hear about a snake or a spider that had caught the other woman off guard.

“I think I found something.”

Dropping her branch, Fil hurried to the witch’s side, Spar moving close behind. The woman crouched near a tumbled pile of rocks along the tree line at the northwestern edge of the tiny clearing.

“Look.”

Fil followed the tip of her pointing finger to the ordinary-looking stones. At first, she could see nothing unusual in the little arrangement. Various shades of gray, the rocks looked like … rocks. Some bore chunks of dirt or moss; others were cracked or chipped from weather and natural forces. It wasn’t until Fil blinked and opened her other set of eyes that she understood what Wynn had spotted.

The dull glint of pyrite in a crack between two stones had disguised the glitter to the naked eye, and the swiftly fading light hadn’t helped. With her inner vision, Fil could make out the edge of a woman’s earring, a thin wire of gold curled into a sweeping hoop. It glowed with a subtle blush of pinkish light.

“Do you think it belonged to one of the victims?” she asked.

Wynn reached out and shifted the stones, deftly plucking the piece of jewelry and holding it up for a closer examination. “Given this right here? I think there’s a decent chance.” She pointed to the post, where dried blood had collected to stain the metal. “It looks like it was ripped free. You know, like during a struggle.”

Fil winced in sympathy and tugged her own bare lobe. “Well, if it did belong to one of the girls, it didn’t do her much good, despite the blessing.”

“It was blessed?” Wynn glanced at her curiously. “I thought I felt something subtle, but it’s barely enough to ping my senses. How can you tell?”

“I can see it.” She told the witch about her small magical talent. “You’re right that it’s subtle. In fact, it’s so subtle I doubt it was much more than someone saying a prayer over the pair before they gave them to her. Too bad they didn’t carry something stronger. Maybe we wouldn’t have had to find them out here. Or her.”

Wynn nodded in silent agreement and slipped the earring into a small pouch she pulled from her bag. “I’m taking it home. I’ll scry over it later. That should tell me definitely if it belonged to one of the girls. If it did, I can try to use it to trace back to the Order. If she was still wearing it during the ritual, I could get lucky and find the sacrificial site.”

Fil grimaced. “Damn. So it’s not here? Not even someplace close to here?”

“No. The energy here sucks, and I’m taking like three showers when I get home to wash it off, but it’s not nearly gross enough for that. I think what’s lingering in this site came with them when they dumped the bodies, and it clung to the remains. It’s been too long for me to feel it leading back anywhere else.” She rose and tucked the little bag into the bigger bag. “You feel anything different?”

“Just maybe a fourth shower.”

“It will be dark in a few more minutes,” Spar pointed out. “Take one last quick look at the area, but we need to start heading back.”

Fil sighed and shook her head. “I was really hoping we’d get lucky and find a great big sign reading
ALTAR OF DEATH
with an arrow pointing us in the right direction.”

Wynn snorted. “Our lives would all be a lot easier if the
nocturnis
were only that stupid.”

The trio made one last quick sweep around the clearing, but of course they found nothing. Fil could only wish things were that easy. The sole thing that changed on her second look around the clearing was her discomfort with the energy of the area. The darker it became, the less she wanted to be here. She found herself instinctively moving closer to Spar just waiting for him to give the signal that he was ready to leave.

When it came, she nearly ran back to the truck. Well, she would have, but by then dusk had well and truly settled around them, and she could barely see the trees five feet in front of her. Knowing her luck, she’d have run face-first into one and given herself a concussion.

Spar gripped her hand. “I can see perfectly clearly,” he said to reassure her. “Just follow me.”

Fil clung, and she had no shame in admitting it. She hadn’t liked this patch of woods in daylight; she certainly had no intention of changing her mind now that everything looked dark and creepy and sinister in the twilight. She turned back to urge Wynn to stick close. Her eyes picked out the witch’s pale features just in time to see her eyes go wide and her body seemingly levitate three feet above the forest floor.

“They set a trap!” Wynn shouted, struggling against the invisible force that gripped her. She tried to pull something out of her bag, but how she could find a single item in the huge sack eluded Fil. “Run!”

Fil’s instincts screamed at her to obey. Oh, how her cowardly heart joined the cheer, but her mind wouldn’t let her abandon the other woman. She couldn’t tell if she dropped Spar’s hand or he dropped hers, but all at once both of them turned on their heels and sprinted back toward Wynn. The bag the witch carried tumbled to the ground just outside the clearing.

“Wynn!” Fil cried out, but the harder her legs pumped, the farther away the witch appeared, as if she was being dragged backward through the trees.

Spar surged forward, shedding his humanity like an ill-fitting disguise. Their surroundings forced him to keep his wings furled, but his muscular stag’s legs ate up distance in great bounds. Fil had to pour on every ounce of speed she could muster just to keep him in sight. Of course, when she broke through the brush into the small clearing, her vision filled with the picture of Wynn, now hanging limp and still in midair. The tendril of sick energy that had hugged the ground earlier now rose up like a malignant version of Jack’s beanstalk, tall and broad and glowing with evil power. The thick stems supported Wynn’s body from beneath, while the viney ends curled around her arms and legs to hold her in place.

“Holy shit,” Fil panted, skidding to a halt. “Spar, what the hell is that?”

“Dead,” the Guardian snarled and launched himself into the heart of the growth.

Chapter Eighteen

The chill hit him first, the clammy cold at the center of the dark energy clinging to his skin and threatening to leach the warmth from the very heart of him. Spar ignored it. He had fought demons and their minions for centuries, and he would not fall prey to their puny scare tactics. He simply reached for a tendril of power and yanked it away from Wynn’s still form.

The trouble with magic was its resilience. Each tendril he touched and snapped off seemed to re-form almost before he could blink. Realizing he was making no progress this way, he reached directly for the human witch to tug her free of the spell.

Behind him he could hear Felicity shouting. He just hoped she had enough sense to stay out of the way, because he couldn’t concentrate on freeing Wynn if worry kept him too busy protecting his mate.

Spar wrapped his arms around the unmoving human and tried to yank her free of the Dark magic. It stretched briefly like a rubber band before springing back into place, dragging Wynn with it. The evil here was strong, but Spar was stronger.

He cursed the surrounding trees that hemmed him in and made it impossible to spread his wings. Their huge span would never clear the encroaching trunks, but if he could get above the human, his power would give him greater leverage to tear her free. Working from the ground gave the plant-like spell an advantage.

He could have used the witch’s help, too. Guardians might be magic, but they couldn’t work magic the way a Warden or a talented human could. Spar could disguise himself from curious eyes and accomplish physical feats that no human could manage, or summon himself clothing or weapons, but he couldn’t cast a spell, or uncast one that held another imprisoned. A witch just might be able to.

Reaching for Wynn again, he shook her this time and called her name, trying to wake her, to get her to talk to him, to help his fight. He couldn’t tell if she had been injured during her struggle and knocked unconscious, or if her sleep was a side effect of the spell. Either way, it didn’t matter. She failed to respond to any of his attempts to get her to open her eyes.

An ominous cracking sound reached his ears, and the ground trembled at his feet. Cursing, Spar looked down and saw the earth split open as more tendrils of Dark power pushed up through the soil. This time, the vines reached for him, as if they intended to surround him the same way they had with Wynn. They would find the Guardian not so easy to ensnare.

Summoning his spear to him with a thought, Spar brought the wickedly sharp head down and around like a scythe. The honed edge sliced though the creeping vines, but unlike live, growing plants, these screamed audibly in pain before they withered back into the dirt. He felt a brief surge of triumph until a new wave of tendrils pushed up, even more than before. They moved faster this time, twining around his limbs almost as quickly as he could cut them back.

He was managing to keep himself free, but Wynn still lay in the grip of the spell. Risking a glance in her direction, he could see the vines growing up and over her body, encasing her in a greenish-black cocoon of Dark energy. He swore and swung his spear faster.

*   *   *

Oh. Hell. No.

Fear had gripped Fil when she’d seen the Darkness grab hold of Wynn, but when those nasty, cancerous excuses for Audrey Two the carnivorous plant began attacking Spar, she’d had enough. Fil might not be a Guardian, and she might not be a witch, but she also wasn’t a coward, and she wasn’t about to sit back and watch while her new friend and her lover were devoured by the Darkness. Not on your life.

She glanced around for something to use as a tool, wondering where a nice sturdy flamethrower was when you needed one. Or maybe she was just looking for inspiration; Fil couldn’t be entirely sure. Either way, the first thing her gaze landed on was Wynn’s fallen bag, lying in the leaves at the edge of the clearing.

Witch or not, there had to be something inside Fil could use. As far as she could tell from watching Wynn, the witch carried everything she owned in there, possibly including her kitchen sink. It wouldn’t surprise Fil at all to learn the thing had a spell on it like Hermione’s purse in the last couple of Harry Potter movies.

She contemplated dumping everything out and sorting through it on the forest floor, but she didn’t want to take the chance that it contained anything Wynn would absolutely refuse to leave behind. If they could get free but had to make a mad dash to safety, she didn’t want to have to stop and repack everything. Instead, she took a deep breath, offered up an even briefer prayer, and stuck her unmarked right hand into the sack. No reason to take chances, right?

Her fingers closed over something fat and cylindrical. At first Fil thought she’d grabbed a candle and started to drop it right back inside, but something stopped her, some niggling in the back of her throat. Biting her lip, she pulled the item out of the bag and looked at it. In her hand she held a jar about seven inches high and three inches in diameter, made of clear glass and stoppered with a thick cork. Inside, she could see a dark, crystalline powder, and in the faint darkness she could just make out a white sticker bearing the neatly printed words
DRIVE AWAY SALT.

Shit. At this point anything was worth a try.

Clutching the jar, she jumped to her feet and strode toward the center of the clearing. The green-black vine things had nearly engulfed Wynn’s body by now, but Spar seemed to be doing a decent job mowing them back from himself with his flashing spear. Either way, she could see that all of the tendrils came from roughly the same area, the three-foot patch of ground around the base of the fallen tree.