Ties That Bind: a New Adult Fantasy Novel (The Spire Chronicles Book 2) (19 page)

“Though difficult to master,” Catherine continued, “this is not a talent exclusive to my people. Are there not many mediums in the Order?”

“There are a few,” said Alex. “Mediums are secular, and with the persecution by necromancers, they’ve closed their ranks even more.”

It was the truth. In fact, when Alex told me he was a medium, I’d been quite surprised. All species and supernaturally gifted individuals tended to keep close ranks. If not because they like each other, then because they understand each other better than an outsider could. But even those groups had their outsiders. The Garou had rogue wolves, spirits had specters, the fae had…everyone, and mages and vampires had infernalists. Mages, cliquey bitches that we are, had two other groups of pariahs: thaumaturges and necromancers.

Even if you discounted the rumors of less than legal practices involving corpses, necromancers were still pompous assholes. They resented the fact that mediums were born with the inherent ability to commune with the dead, whereas they had to learn the art through grueling study. For some reason, those who decided to specialize heavily in necromancy ended up being the most perverse motherfuckers in the world (this would be the part where we
did
include those aforementioned rumors). Plus, they were usually rich and bored, which meant they partook in things even Satan would frown at just to entertain themselves. For example, binding the dead to turn them into your personal slaves or aggressively denouncing mediums for having an ability they resent not having naturally. The richer and crueler of them even hired mercenaries to hunt down mediums in hopes of exterminating the “competition.”

Ah, the paranormal world, so unified, so loving.

Catherine raised a tawny brow. “Surely the mediums in the Order congregate and share their talents?”

“Of course they do.” Alex frowned. “They’re very skilled. We all are.”

“And yet they seem to know little more than you do. Or perhaps they merely keep their gifts to themselves. A shame, such things should be shared among peers.” Catherine gave the floor a solemn expression, but I couldn’t help feel she was – at least in part – getting back at him for his snippiness. “Even without a medium’s inherent lack of magical powers, you could learn so much more if you were willing.”

Alex swallowed thickly, as if he were physically gulping down his pride. “The only thing I want to learn right now is the truth about what happened.”

“Of course.” Catherine nodded and glided over to the shelf in the back. “Miss Wallace–”

“Morgan is fine.”

“Morgan, do you have any experience with necromancy?”

I shook my head.

“I see.” She looked through the potions lined up in front of her. “If you did, we could all do this the same way. You’ll have to use a potion instead.” She came back to me, a philter of cloudy white liquid in her hand. Wisps of smoke floated out when she uncorked it. “Drink this.”

The philter was pleasantly warm when she slipped it into my hands. Alex took my wrist and asked, “What is this?”

“In short, the potion will allow her to experience contact with a spirit the way a medium would.”

I sniffed the potion. Despite how warm it was, the liquid smelled like cold air with a hint of something sweet. I sent my magic through the glass, trying to trace the individual ingredients. It wouldn’t be as accurate as simply tasting the concoction, but that would ruin the point of scanning it first. The Garou had been friendly so far – besides the whole snafu where my head got slammed against a brick wall – but there was still a tug of paranoia as I scanned the potion. I had nowhere near enough experience with their magic to make a logical assessment, so the least I could do was search for any poisonous or otherwise dangerous ingredients.

“I could drink it first,” Catherine offered with an amused smile. “If it’ll make you feel better.”

Alex plucked the philter from my hand and gave it back to her. “Do it.”

Without hesitating, she took a swig. She held the vial up to the light, making sure we could see the missing liquid, and swallowed loudly to enunciate her point before handing the potion back to me. In the far corner, Tamlin’s shoulders shook as he pressed his lips together.
Absolutely. Precious.
I wanted five of him.

I held the vial up. “Bottoms up.”

The liquid was creamy in texture, with hints of vanilla and ginger. It went down smoothly, though the lack of outward effect on my person made me nervous. Big explosions or dramatic vomiting of blood I could handle, but a whole lot of nothing now usually meant some deep shit was going to go down later. Alex was right, I did hate the unknown. But that's what made me such a good investigator, so it balanced out.

“Are you joining us, Tamlin?” asked Alex. He placed an arm around my shoulder as his eyes darted between me and the blonde boy. The affection made me feel better and I, opportunist that I am, buried my face into the crook of his neck.

“Nah.” Tamlin headed for the shelf. “I’m just here for the comedown. Those memories can be really rough to recover from. My mom’s pretty tough–” he winked at Catherine, who shook her head fondly, and handed her whatever he picked up “–but better safe than sorry. No idea how you two will handle it, though.”

I gave him an unimpressed look. “That’s reassuring.”

Catherine walked back to the hearth. “In the spirit–”

“Pun fully intended,” said Tamlin with a coy grin.
Oh, I really like you.

“–of full disclosure,” she continued, “I will draw on the memories of several departed to show the killings were committed by the same people.”

“Are that many of them still in Limbo?” I asked.

“The Shadowlands,” said Alex. “Limbo is where reapers send souls before they pass on to Heaven or Hell.”

“Or choose to remain in the Shadowlands of Umbra,” said Catherine. “Limbo is merely the first step. Some spirits resist passing on due to trauma, others due to rage, and others still out of sheer stubbornness.” She moved to the other side of the hearth. “It is sad but true. Please stand on separate sides of the hearth, equidistant to one another, but keep holding hands.”

Reluctantly, I stepped away from Alex’s familiar scent and stood across from Catherine, the large fire obscuring everything but the ends of her shawl. Alex was still holding my hand, which was comforting – if I was going to be skinned alive, I wanted him with me. Catherine closed her eyes. I copied her, vibrant orange piercing through my eyelids. She began chanting in an ancient language, probably her people’s tongue. I could hear the fire spark and sizzle, and I knew she must have tossed the ingredients Tamlin handed her into the flames.

My heart began pounding against my chest. I squeezed Alex’s hand tighter, sliding a finger to his pulse point. His pulse didn’t feel abnormally fast, just a few beats above average. That happened when I used my magic, so I assumed it would be the same for Alex. He wasn’t worried, then. And if he wasn’t worried, I didn’t need to be.

I hoped.

12

I was at home here.

I walked among the trees like a fish swam through water, the leaves comforting underneath my bare feet. Shoes were okay, but they were confining – bindings made for the delicate feet of Man. It was better to be free. My shirt came off next, and as I stared down at the chiseled, bronzed muscles of a body that was certainly not my own, I realized that Catherine’s ritual had worked. I wasn’t sure whose body I was in, but I knew what was going to happen to him.

Was Alex here? Were we all in the same body? Could they hear my thoughts? Those wonderings faded as I/the man continued walking. There were still leaves on the trees, their brothers’ bodies covering the forest floor until there was nary a speck of dirt left to see. The setting sun kissed the horizon and bathed the reds, oranges, and yellows of the forest in a radiant golden light. A crimson leaf drifted down in front of my eyes, and I held a large, tan palm out to catch it. I turned it over in my hand a few times before letting it join its siblings.

I began to run, the forest rushing by me in a blur of browns and yellows. The blood rushed through my veins and my heart pounded in my chest. Running was apparently exhilarating when my lungs weren’t threatening to explode. The fresh forest air was all I needed. My muscles stretched in the most delicious way, my jaw pulled down and back, and my bones realigned, the adrenaline making the entire experience feel amazing.

I was on all fours now and the most regal roar ripped from my mouth. I was a lion. I was king. Another magnificent roar rang out as I raced among the trees. My mane billowed in the wind, and I couldn’t think of anything better than this.

A scent caught my attention. The musk of humanity tinged with that special hint of the supernatural that hunters possessed. Were a group of them out for some fun? It didn’t matter, I suppose. Running into hunters had never been a problem before. The Order was a friend. An ally.

The five of them came into view soon enough; two women and three men. None of them were familiar to the shifter whose memory I was in, but I recognized Tom. He wasn’t as gaunt as he had been when we met, and his face was clean-shaven, but there was no mistaking him. A sense of unease filled me, and I made a sharp right, deciding to have my fun in the deeper, warded parts of the woods.

One of the women waved and stepped toward me, causing me to pause. The other four looked and smelled as nervous as she did. Sweat plastered her short brown hair to her face and her heart was beating so loudly I could hear it as if she was pressed right against me. But still she waved. Perhaps she was in trouble? That thought was what made me approach her slowly, stopping a few feet away.

Then, one of the others threw something. I leapt back, but the objects seemed to follow me. They slapped against my ankles, binding my paws together. The twigs on the ground didn’t even register as I writhed over them, thrashing against my bonds. These weren’t pure iron, nor were they orichalcum, yet I couldn’t break free. Magic numbed my extremities, but the pain, as whatever infernal bindings they used cut into my flesh, was very real.

“Holy shit, he was right,” Tom whispered, taking a tentative step towards me. “It actually worked.”

“All right,” the brown haired girl said. “That means the knife he gave us will work, too. Hand it over and I’ll make the kill. One clean cut.”

A man with dark, slicked back hair stepped forward, his beady eyes boring into mine. He was holding a dagger, and it didn’t take a mage to know it was overflowing with dark magic. That was the kind of shit we personally escorted back home so the family heads could deliver it to the Council, where they would seal it under the best protection possible.

It didn’t look like an ancient artifact. No, it looked sleek, brand new. The dagger had no hilt and was pure black, with a red stripe along the edge of the blade, which looked like it had been sharpened to the point of impossibility. There was a visible aura of black smoke around it, almost obscuring the weapon entirely. The smoke didn’t appear to bother the rest of them, and I wondered if I was the only one able to see it, if my magic showed me things hidden to the eyes of others.

“Dude,” Tom said, “give it to her.”

“Wait,” the man said. “I read somewhere that it’s better to get the skin off while the animal is still alive.”

“Ken, that’s sick,” said the other woman. She had brown hair, too, in a long ponytail that brushed against her rear end. “That’s just…sick. What the fuck is wrong with you? And how the hell are you going to stop him from thrashing around while you’re doing it? Those ropes keep him bound, not paralyzed.”

I increased my struggles as she spoke, roaring wildly in the hopes that a few of my pride were around to hear me. The binds around my ankles were cutting through with such intensity it felt like they would soon hit bone. I wouldn’t have thought it possible with my supernatural fortitude, but it was clear these were very dangerous objects. I could feel the magic around them. They felt the same as the waves emanating from the dagger, which meant they were probably made by the same person. My legs felt heavier the more I struggled. Was that another effect of the binds? I roared once more and doubled my thrashing. These binds would break eventually. I had to stay strong. I had to keep fighting.

“You guys can sit on him or something while I do it,” said Ken. “C’mon, you want the money or not? Boss-man said these parts sell for a shit-ton of dough.”

Tom shook his head. “No way, dude. I’m not doing that.”

The bobbed brunette rolled her eyes and moved over to grab my hind legs. I kicked them both back and she rolled to the ground with a grunt.

“Damn it, Tom,” she said. “Grow a pair and help me. If you don’t do your fair share, you don’t get a cut.”

“Just kill him,” said Tom. His eyes never stayed on me for more than a second before shifting away.

The fifth person, a muscular man with a buzz cut and a tattoo of an eagle on his left bicep, spoke up. “Look, you don’t want to help – that’s fine. All that’s going to do is make this take longer. But when we get back, the boss is going to hear that you didn’t do shit, and you won’t get paid. So–” he clapped a hand on Tom’s shoulder “–what you have to ask yourself is this: do you have enough money to pay your rent next week?”