The Soother (25 page)

Knowing Calliope had brought on a lot of changes in Krystoff. Who would have thought forgiveness would be among them? Hardening his heart had been easier. A hell of a lot easier.

Scout nodded. “I’ve always thought so.”

“How come I’ve never met Hannah? Any of your family, for that matter?” Why did he even care? Krystoff had asked about Scout’s family many times before. An answer had not been forthcoming then. He didn’t expect one now.

“Disappointment.”

Well, surprise, surprise. “Them in you, or you in them?”

“Both,” Scout said, then pulled his lips into a thin line. “We should go. You may like this rainy shit, but I can do without.”

“Fine.” Krystoff stepped close. “Take me back to the mountain.”

Scout gripped Krystoff’s shoulder. “Done.”

One second Krystoff was staring at the swinging sign for Hannah’s Place. Within that same second he was transported far away. Krystoff blinked at the familiar surroundings. The rain had gone, but the cloud cover remained. Being back on the mountain, closer to Calliope should have snuffed the uneasy feeling. It didn’t. The sense that something terrible was about to happen had been replaced by the fear that something terrible had
already
happened.

Listening for heartbeats, he turned a full circle while holding his breath. Krystoff sifted through the pulses of the animals; the quick staccato of a hunted rabbit, the slow beat of a sleeping deer, the driving thump of a mountain lion stalking his prey. He clung to the hope that if not Calliope’s, he would hear at least one of the witches’ hearts. He didn’t. “They’re not here,” he declared, choking on the words.

“You sure?”

Krystoff spun. “Of course I’m sure.” His brows furrowed. He scanned the area even though he knew he and Scout were alone. “Where are they?” Another thought attempted to creep in and taint his mind. Death. He shoved it away, refusing to even include it as an option. Calliope was not dead. Not. Dead. His shadows swirled in denial. They wanted Calliope as much as he did.

Scout closed his eyes, his face expressionless.

“What are you doing?” Krystoff demanded, his muscles on the verge of shaking. He couldn’t just stand here. Time kept slipping by and with each passing second, he felt farther and farther away from Calliope.

Popping one eye open, Scout leveled Krystoff with a hard glare, then resumed his meditative stance.

Krystoff waited. More and more gruesome images flashed through his mind. He shouldn’t have left them. Anything could have happened.

“They’re in their village.”

That couldn’t be. The coven wouldn’t leave the safety of the mountain. Unless … Readying to flash, Krystoff asked, “All of them?”

Scout’s answer was a shrug.

Krystoff flashed. Trees blurred as his feet carried him down the mountain. His heart raced. He pushed himself to the limit, muscles straining against the exertion. He needed to go faster. His version of flashing was antiquated compared to Scout’s. Should have just asked the nomas to take him. That afterthought didn’t do him any good now.

Finally, after what seemed like hours, but had probably only been seconds, Krystoff came to the edge of the village. Scout was already there.

Relief clung to his breaths. Magickal embers streaked through the streets of the village. So many witches, all wielding their magick, were working together. The younger witches were restoring their land and homes. They’d already made impressive progress. Smoked and charred debris floated high before evaporating into the atmosphere. Walls were being rebuilt, windows polished to a high shine, sidewalks swept with cleansing incantations.

All other witches, some he’d never met but had seen before hell had come to their village, were either making weapons or lined up around the perimeter and placing wards. This magick was darker, stronger. The chanting, loud and harmonious, warned these wards would hold. Krystoff shook his head with pride.

“They’ve been busy,” Scout said beside him.

“Indeed,” Krystoff answered. Eyes narrowed, he sorted through the witches, looking, hoping. “I don’t see her magick.”

“Maybe it’s there,” Scout said. “Hard to tell with that rainbow show going on. What’s her color?”

Jaw locked tight, Krystoff shook his head. She wasn’t there. “Blue.”

“She’s gone.”

Krystoff twisted around at the feminine voice.
Ambra
. “Where is she?” His throat was thick, making it nearly impossible to swallow, let alone breathe.

“I don’t know.” Ambra wrung her hands. “She sent me a message. Warned me the Mistropans were near and that she’d been captured. They have her, Krystoff. I’ve searched this entire mountain for my daughter.” She lowered her eyes. “I’ve tried, but I can’t find her and I don’t know where they’ve taken her.”

Krystoff couldn’t smother the fear that he may have lost Calliope. “Did she say anything else? Anything at all about where they were taking her? What direction? Anything?” He wanted answers. Wanted action. Wanted Calliope.

Ambra glanced at Scout, then past Krystoff with a mixture of anger and sorrow in her eyes. “Isabelle saw her.”

Something about her tone told him Ambra wasn’t talking about Calliope. “Saw who exactly?” he asked through clenched teeth.

Ambra took a deep breath before answering. “Your mother.”

Krystoff whirled on Scout who had stood silently next to him. His arm shot forward and he nailed Scout in the jaw.

Scout’s pupils dilated, the only indication he’d felt the punch. “Chill.”

“Damn you.” Krystoff drove his fist into Scout’s nose. Blood gushed. “You led me away so Riona could get to Calliope. I’ll kill you for this.” Anger competed with magick. He melded the two, his shadows darkening to the shade of midnight.

Scout stood, hands in his pockets, like a bloodied unemotional statue. “Believe what you want, Krystoff. But I will not die today.”

He shoved the unfeeling bastard. “Why? Because you’ll ghost your way out of here? Why don’t you try something new this time and stay and fight?”

Shoulders thrown back, Scout said, “Be careful what you ask for,
friend
.”

• • •

Eron grabbed Calliope by her hair. She cried out and kept her head still in an attempt to ease some of the pressure. In her mind, she’d really pulled off the scared victim role. She’d briefly worried it wouldn’t work and had almost resorted to begging. Eron yanked her to her feet. Desperate to get out of the cell, Calliope gratefully took the pain of having her hair nearly ripped out of her skull. It would grow back.
If
she could manage to stay alive.

After everything Riona had said to Eron, Calliope couldn’t believe he was still doing her bidding. Strange, really. That someone as strong and dark as Eron would follow the orders of a woman at all. He didn’t seem the type. Unless he was just biding his time. “I think you just made Queenie’s naughty list,” she taunted.

Eron smiled. “It’s not the first time.” He shifted his hold from her hair to her shoulders and lifted Calliope to eye level.

Feet dangling, Calliope smiled back. Acting scared was a lot easier than acting friendly. Especially to someone as dangerous as Eron. “But it may be the last?” she asked, pushing soft understanding into her voice.

Eron grumbled something under his breath. Calliope swore it sounded a lot like
one way or another
. If so, he was right. If she could temporarily sway him to her side, they could double-team Riona and she could get out of here a lot faster. Eron could go wherever he wanted as long as it was in the opposite direction. “I don’t know how you stand being talked to like that.” She frowned and shook her head for effect.

Squeezing her shoulders, Eron said, “Don’t waste the effort.”

“I’m not sure what you mean.”

He leaned in until his breath fanned over her face. “You know exactly what I mean. We are not on the same side here. I am on no one’s side.”

Stay calm
. “So, you’re like an island?” She studied his black eyes. Inky pools of disaster. She wondered if he’d always had eyes like that or if the shadows caused them to look so dark and ominous. Would Krystoff’s eyes turn, too? Mother goddess, she hoped not. “Think about it,” Calliope continued. “An island isn’t an island without water. Consider me water,” she added with a nod.

Eron dropped her. Calliope landed on her feet. Shockwaves of pain shot through her bare soles. She wiggled her toes. The jerks had taken her favorite boots. For that alone they should be made to pay. “What?” she said. “You don’t like my reasoning?”

“I don’t like you.” Pointing toward the stairs, Eron ordered her to move.

Calliope blew out a breath so strong her bangs drifted to one side. She smoothed them back into place and quickly ran out of the cell before Eron changed his mind and slammed the door closed.

Taking each of the jagged steps carefully, Calliope willingly made the long trek from the dungeon to the first floor. “Any chance I can get my boots back?” she asked over her shoulder. Her thighs burned, but she continued climbing. Each step brought her closer to freedom.

“No.”

Whatever. She’d manage without. Calliope pretended to trip, gasped, and fell back against Eron’s chest. Her hope was that if she initiated contact, her soothing abilities would kick in. Eron definitely could use a little taming. He released a slow breath, but that was about the extent of it.

What was it with Mistropa? Even the slayers in the kingdom of Lemra could be soothed, and they were nasty creatures. She shivered thinking back to their grotesque appearances. Thank goodness Meera had worked her magick in that realm.

Eron shoved her away with a firm palm to her back. “Perhaps you should save your energy, witch. You’ll need it.”

Wait
. Was that a clue that he’d help her? Or even that she’d get an opportunity to use her magick? She doubted it but held tight to the slippery grain of hope that kept trying to slide through her fingers.

She walked slowly, memorizing the layout of the castle. So many doors. All closed. Probably locked. Still, she counted each one. Those most prepared typically won the battle. She planned to be both prepared and a magickal nightmare.

They stepped through a large iron door. A moss-covered lawn of sorts gave way to thick trees. Eron guided her forward. Her feet sank into the saturated earth. Slime squished between her toes. Each determined step caused a sucking sound as she pulled her feet free. Calliope turned up her nose and trudged on. They didn’t have to walk far before her plan flew right out the window along with her measly grain of hope.

Memories assaulted, weakening her knees. An enormous stone circle was no more than ten feet away. She’d never forget this place. The pole Krystoff had been strung up on still had his blood smeared all over it. A sign of what could have been. A symbol of all he could have lost. All Calliope wished she had never discovered. Her mind screamed for her to flee, to get away before the torture began. Her feet betrayed her, keeping her locked in place. Eron shoved her again and Calliope stumbled. Arms flailing, she caught herself just before her toes breached the circle. Sweat dripped from her temples. She turned, ran. Eron easily caught her, ripping the back of her shirt clean off. She spun away and ducked out of reach. His fist grazed her head. Vision blurring, she rubbed her eyes trying to clear the fist-of-Eron-induced fog.

Tearing into the woods, she put as much distance between her and the circle as she could. Shadows swirled, reached out, clawed at the air, trying to suck her in. She froze as uncertainty threatened to paralyze.
Which way? Which way?
Calliope backed up against a tree. She couldn’t run forever. She had to think. Had to find a portal. She’d come back with reinforcements and take care of Riona.

Heavy, fast-moving footsteps sounded behind her. Then, in front of her. She shook her head, slowed her breathing. Deep breath in, slow breath out, as she concentrated on finding her escape hole. Scanning the area, Calliope bit back a squeal when she spotted shimmering waves to her right. She took another deep breath and bolted toward the portal.

Eron silently dropped from above. Calliope screamed and kicked when he threw her over his shoulder. He held tight, breaking through the trees and taking her right back to the place she couldn’t be. She squeezed her eyes shut when she saw the blackened stones that indicated he’d entered the circle.

Then she heard it. She slumped against Eron’s shoulder, her body weighed down by a sense of twisted and reversed déjà vu.
No, no, no,
she silently screamed. But the banshee wailed on.

Krystoff braced for the hit. Scout, fists clenched at his sides, pale eyes crackling with icy fire, charged. Krystoff caught the strike in his gut, doubled over and twisted to the right. He kicked out with his leg and knocked Scout sideways with a shot to the knee. Scout fell, then back-flipped to his feet and paced like a caged animal. Krystoff ground his teeth. Waited. Scout shot forward. Krystoff dove left, but underestimated the distance. Scout tackled him to the ground, flipped him over. Krystoff head-butted him. Bright red blood trickled from above Scout’s right eye.

With a feral growl, Scout pulled back his arm and clocked Krystoff in the jaw. His teeth rattled. His head smacked the ground with a loud crack. Vision blurring, Krystoff blinked, anticipating the next blow. Instead, the Scout’s weight disappeared. Breath ragged, Krystoff pushed up to his elbows to survey the damage and figure out why Scout hadn’t taken the killing blow.

Scout stood stone-still, Isabelle at his side, her fingers gently touching his wrist. Two short days and already her powers had strengthened. He’d known she was strong, had power waiting to be unleashed, but Krystoff hadn’t expected this. Her physical features had matured as well. She no longer looked like a kid. Her face seemed thinner. Once-bright and vibrant eyes had dimmed to a dark shade of blue. She’d lost the touch of innocence. Was it seeing the battle and fleeing for her life? Had something else happened to her since he’d last seen her? Whatever it was, Isabelle had indeed soothed the nomas.