The Tragedy of Knowledge (19 page)

The blood and destruction was so overwhelming, I almost missed the other eyesore clear across the valley, at the top of the cathedral’s hill. The gates had been demolished, an opening that seemed the size of a continent bulldozed through the surrounding fortress walls.

“There,” Gavin said, voice low, eyes zoning in on movement amidst the center of the army’s formation. A bold red and a flash of milky skin appeared between the shoulders of the guards, rippling the formation with vivid distinction. Its vivacious pop contrasted with the black-and-gray hooded cloaks the guards wore, and it was moving toward the bottom of the hill, in our direction.

Scarlet.

Exchanging glances with Josh, Dali, Akim and me, Gavin raised his knives and crouched forward, ready to charge down the hill and into the valley. “Now!” His voice was a bomb, detonating the deceptive silence around us, and as he, Josh and Dali flew forward, Akim and I darted to the right and down the back side of the hill toward the haven. One glance over my shoulder chilled me. Their heads disappeared down the hill’s slope, and that knowledge propelled me forward with so much vigor, for the first time, I was truly afraid of my own strength.

We reached the haven and descended into its cave. Samira rushed forward to meet us at the bottom of the stairwell, her face grave, eyes piercing Akim with unprecedented malice.

She turned her gaze on me, moving closer and holding out a hand, her first balled tight. The Book of the Ancients brightened from behind me, lighting up the cave while Akim dashed to a nearby table to pull potions and herbs from his bag.

“Samira?” I stepped closer to get a good look at her hand. She searched my face and uncurled her fist, holding out her palm. I gripped her wrist, and my eyes shot up to hers when I spotted the box of matches. Not breaking our contact, I slipped my bag off my shoulder with one hand and pulled out the Book of the Ancients. Its cover blasted opened and revealed the last page, the same illustration we’d seen before, of a luminescent stream of fire passing between her fingertips and mine. We both gasped in realization that the book was indeed giving us our cue. Stunned, Samira dropped the matches. I scooped them up and stumbled backward until my heels hit the bottom of the stairwell.

“Samira!” Akim shouted, calling her to the table. She turned to him but her anger with him was lost, just as mine was with Gavin. Her eyes were wide in shock and jaw slack at what had just passed between us.

“It’s all really happening,” she murmured to herself.

“Yes,” Akim surged forward and grabbed her hand, “it is. Now you can get over here, link me to your magic, and fight with us, or rot in this hole by yourself. What’s it going to be?”

“What? I—”

Waves of shouting and thunder shook the ground above us and we winced.

“Now!” Akim said. “I won’t break the barrier and let you out unless you link me first. What’s it going to be?” Not waiting for her to make the call, he grabbed a silver pin, unrolled some parchment and began to read the words aloud, chanting and reciting them as he went, Samira’s indecision bouncing between my gaze and his. Between chants, he shouted, “Damn it, Camille, you have the matches, now go!”

“But I don’t know what to do with them yet!”

He pointed to the Book of the Ancients while he popped open a bottle of potion to pour it into a bowl, his shaky hands knocking over a rack of bottles on the table as he worked.

I turned and clutched the edges of the book, scanning the pages until I landed on the golden, swirling light as it illuminated the page next to the final message.

A firestarter to commence our fate.

The picture came to life, a ring of fire encasing Gérard, and I immediately recognized the cathedral’s throne room. My gaze lifted to Akim and he nodded fiercely.

“Go!” he shouted again, pulling tighter on Samira’s wrist.

I flew forward and seized Samira’s shoulders. “Do it, Samira. Please! We need your magic,
please
!”

The booming uproar above us quaked, and I jetted to the stairwell without a second glance and ascended from the cave’s depths and into the overcast sunlight, shoving the matchbox into my pocket as I did. Shooting up from the ground into flight, I flew over the back side of the hill and landed next to the windmill, gazing down into the valley’s chaos. My friends were in combat, Dali blasting his magic toward the rows of guards as they surged toward him, Gavin and Josh to his left, all protected by what seemed to be an orb of light, its halo highlighting a perimeter around their feet. Frozen souls darted toward them, yet Gavin and Josh’s knives collided with their chests before the enemy could strike or restrain them.

With a deep breath and a final glance at my target, the cathedral on the opposite side of the valley, I rocketed into the air and bolted clear across my friends and the army below. I landed just in front of the pile of rubble near the gates, stepping over the golden bars and toward the castle. Slinking around the cathedral’s rear walls, I slipped past the wooden doors and through the back corridor, only a trickling of guards making their way toward Amaranth’s entrance as I slithered by. My entire body was in tune with the Book of the Ancients’ energy as it hummed in my backpack, and I waited to feel its familiar warmth and connect with its light.

Approaching Samira’s throne room doors, I glanced from left to right, noting the hallway’s unnatural emptiness. I entered and floated toward the center of the room; the fireplace crackled, its light shedding a radiant glow on the stone floor. I swallowed hard and readjusted the silver knives in my hand, creeping toward the altar in search of an oil lamp or lantern, something to help start the fire. How I was supposed to manage a circle of fire with Gérard smack in the middle of it was beyond me, but my feet continued to carry me forward until a sensual chuckle emanated around me and halted my mission.

I spun around but found nothing, only the echoes of the same laugh crawling over and through me, a light breeze whipping at my hair as it moved. The main throne room doors swung wide, and a tired dragging sound rustled from the hall. One body appeared, then two, then three … until an entire line of bodies hobbled in, their knees disjointed and arms jerking in sporadic, unnatural movements. Their clothing was haggard and torn. Bloody gashes decorated their knees and elbows. Studying their gaunt, pale faces, I realized they weren’t just any random bodies—they were the witches from the bayou, those who had turned on Gérard and helped us escape through the portal.

And then I saw their eyes.

The glassy barrenness of them made me stumble back, and suddenly I was studying their bodies again, taking in the greenish-gray tint of their skin, the way their decrepit flesh dangled from their bones around the open wounds. My eyes flashing back to their faces, I realized they were dead.

Just as I was about to doubt a reanimated corpse’s ability to do any significant damage, given their slow, decaying condition, their ragged, skeleton-like fingers extended and they reached for one another, linking hands as they did at the bayou. The same smooth, deep chuckle filled the room and I stepped back farther. The witches’ mouths moved in unison now, their monotone chants coaxing a wind of some sort, and then a sharp cracking sound from the walls. I jumped and shrieked when the cracks in the stone traveled from the ceiling to the floor like lightning strikes, and as the ground quaked beneath my feet, Gérard appeared at the main entryway and sauntered toward me.

He stepped in front of me, our eyes leveled, and my gaze moved over his face and then downward to roam his naked chest. An enormous cigar rested between his ring-clad fingers, which dangled comfortably at his side, and his feet were bare. His dark gray slacks relaxed in rolled cuffs around his ankles. This time, he wore no hat, revealing buzzed-short hair and a gruesome scar near the top of his hairline.

“Camille,” he murmured, a smug smile painting his lips. “We meet again, and perfect timing, might I add.” Blowing a puff of smoke to the side, he closed the space between us and traced my hip with his index finger, circling my crescent scar until my insides tingled, his pleased smile intensifying tenfold at my reaction. His mind-compulsion magic was starting to take hold, but every cell in me tried to fight the control. I peered down at his hand as it toyed with my skin, apprising each of his gold rings and the spellbinding symbols they bore, and then my gaze traveled north, over each defined muscle of his stomach and chest, landing on his devilish, succulent lips. Instantly, I wanted to taste them.

I trembled and shook my head, forcing my gaze upward to meet his.

“What is it you intend to do with these?” His fingers skipped over my scar and delved into my pocket, retrieving the box of matches. He held them up, his brows rising in amusement, before he chucked them to the floor. “I’m certain your friends—what’s left of them, anyway—are up to no good, so I’ll make this short and sweet.” He turned and took a drag from his cigar, eyeing the throne room’s ceiling as a king would admire his kingdom. “When I warned you not to impart your knowledge of Dali and Akim to the others, I should have known you’d test my challenge. One look at Erica’s necklace around your neck, and that vitality in your eyes, and I knew you’d start all sorts of trouble.”

He turned to face me again, edging forward, posture carnal and much too enticing. “I sensed your innate sympathy for my ex-wife and realized I’d had a little sacrificial gem right beneath my fingertips. I was hoping you’d accompany me here on your own accord, but you certainly rose to the challenge and pleasantly surprised me.” He laughed darkly, reaching over to play with my hair. “You see, I
love
trouble.” His head dipped down to find my lips, and the same magnetic pull began to ensnare my senses, my body coming alive at his nearness.

I stepped back, just out of his reach.

“Baby,” a voice purred from across the room. “I’m growing impatient, and you know I’m no fun when I’m impatient.”

Gérard’s expression turned to annoyance, and he twisted in the voice’s direction to find Scarlet approaching us from the main entryway, passing the line of witches who now stood stock-still, their eyes glowing an eerie red. The click of her heels grated on each of my nerve endings. She slipped the vial necklace from her neck and strutted over to him, holding it up to let it dangle in midair.

“Ah, yes,” he said, taking the necklace from her, “I suppose we have everything we need now.”

“Looks like it,” she said and grinned, tilting her head to look over his shoulder and straight toward me. Her arms encircled his neck and chest, and her fingers skimmed his collarbone as she leaned into him with a pout. “I’m ready for my kingdom now. I can’t
wait
to herd a fresh set of frozen souls into Amaranth and start anew. There aren’t many humans remaining to sustain our energy. And besides, it’s time for a little renovation, wouldn’t you say, baby?”

“Indeed,” Gérard muttered, lifting her hands from his neck to drop them to her sides. He stepped away from her and rubbed his chin thoughtfully, then walked to the throne altar to retrieve a handkerchief. “I’m all about renovating. In fact, honey, I believe it’s time for quite a few upgrades.” He removed the cap from the vial and poured my blood onto the handkerchief, then stuffed it inside a clear bottle. Pouring a splash of a purple-hued potion into it, he corked the bottle and shook it, causing it to bubble up. “Camille, I’d love to make you my new queen, but I doubt your loyal blood would allow you to accept such an offer.” He smoothed the altar’s linen and rolled open a scroll next, casually studying its text.

My gaze darted to Scarlet. Her expression displayed the same disbelief I felt unravel in my torso at Gérard’s admission.

“You … you
what
?” she said, shifting her weight on one hip.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” Gérard said, looking up from his task, “did you not hear me the first time? I’d love for Camille to be my new queen.” I glanced over my shoulder at the altar, feeling his eyes burning holes into the back of my head as I stood there in shock. “I think we’d have a lot of fun together.”

“You—” Scarlet started forward, stopping when Gérard lifted his hand to halt her. “You swore to me … you promised I’d have my place as your queen
ages
ago. What, you’re going to toss me out like garbage after all this time? After everything we’ve been through, everything we’ve planned?” Her hand flew to her hip. “She can’t give you anything! She’s completely worthless! She’s here to
destroy
you!”

“Ah-ah,” he replied, returning his attention to the scroll’s parchment. “No need to get jealous, honey. I suspected Camille would be less than willing to accept my offer … and while I do enjoy the idea of compelling her to accept, there would be no satisfaction for me in that decision. I’d much prefer a willing volunteer, which is why I’ve reserved another option.” He snapped his fingers and looked to the entryway. “Isa, come, darling.”

Scarlet spun in the direction he called to, her eyes flaring and shoulders tightening when she spotted the tall, statuesque blonde who entered the throne room. The woman’s long, flowing white chiffon dress billowed around her legs, and she glided forward as if floating on air. Her angelic golden locks were piled high in a tight bun atop her head, secured with a glistening, diamond-studded headband. Even her eyes, though a bright, entrancing, sapphire blue, sparkled like diamonds.