The Forbidden Page 8

  “We have begun interrogating this night’s catch of D’Anu witches.” Bane kept his voice low this time so that no hotel guest might hear him if one passed by. “The Balorite war- lock priest believes many of the witches have great potential. Providing we can get them to cooperate.”

  Junga listened to her host body’s instincts and raised her hand to touch Bane’s face. Her snarl turned into a sensual smile. She trailed the pads of her fingers over his stubble, enjoying the unfamiliar sensation. Leaning closer, she raised her face to his, licked his lips, then brushed her mouth across his. “Your taste pleases me,” she murmured.

  Strange vibrations rippled throughout Junga’s body. From her nipples to her belly, to a place between her thighs. The wildness of the feelings and the host’s instincts prompted Junga to bite Bane’s lower lip, then thrust her tongue into his mouth.

  Erotic words came to Junga’s mind. She liked the sound of the human words for the sexual act and organs.

  Bane emitted a low groan and smashed his mouth tight to hers. Junga wanted more, wanted all of him. She had the violent desire to claw off the fragile clothing they both wore, climb on top of him, and slide him inside her. She wanted him to do with her what he would. To take her any way he wanted to.

  This was unlike anything she remembered experiencing before. She felt as if she were flying, her body and her thoughts spinning—

  With a cry of frustration, Junga ripped herself from Bane’s kiss and shoved him back. By Balor’s name, she would not lose control of herself.

  Nevertheless, her breath came hard and fast. Images of Bane taking her in human form raged in her mind.

  She would take him, under her terms. When she was completely in charge.

  By Balor, she hoped no one had noticed her kissing Elizabeth’s employee. She clenched her fists so hard the red nails dug into the soft flesh of her palms. How could she have lost control like that? “I want to see the witches and their apprentices.”

  Bane appeared somewhat dazed and confused. When she gave a low growl, he quickly regained his composure, his features becoming impassive.

  With a stiff bow of his head, he gestured toward a hallway near the elevator bank. “This way, ceannaire.”

  She raised her chin and strode past him to the hallway leading to the sectioned-off small ballroom where the witches had been retained.

  A few of her legion mates were already installing themselves temporarily in a few of the warlocks’ lives—only those warlocks they had murdered before Junga had stopped them from killing more. They needed the rest of these creatures to perform another summoning, but were short of the number needed to reach thirteen.

  She growled again. Her patience easily wore thin and she hated this farce. But what must be done must be done, until they were in charge of this Earth, this world that was rightly theirs.

  A laugh rose up within Junga and spilled from her human lips. No more exile for her people. The D’Danann would be in for a wicked surprise very, very soon. The weak, treacherous gnats thought they had defeated the Fomorii and imprisoned them beneath the seas in Underworld forever—but her proud race was not so easily put down.

  She would deal with the D’Danann later.

  Junga moved down a hallway, reached the closed ballroom door, opened it, and quickly shut it behind her so that none of the hotel guests would have the opportunity to see the witches inside if a guest were to pass by.

  She stepped onto the floor. Folding her arms under her breasts, she almost laughed as she surveyed the captured witches. They stood behind Darkwolf’s shield of magic that restrained them. The shield glimmered in soft waves of purple, its darkness slowly breaking them down. Initially they had tried to use their magic against the shield, but after numerous attempts, they had finally given up.

  Pathetic beings, this lot. They tended to huddle in packs, consoling one another, meditating, praying to their goddess. As if that would do the miserable creatures any good. Once they were converted to warlocks, they would serve the Fomorii.

  By the almighty Balor, Darkwolf would surely find some way to convince these D’Anu witches to cooperate.

  Her gaze rested on Darkwolf as the imposing warlock strode toward her. Something about him appealed to her human body, and she felt a ripple through her host. He had a wicked, carnal look to his dark eyes that made her want to take him down to the floor and slide him inside her. A feeling that was much stronger than the one she had experienced with Bane.

  When the high priest reached her, his eyes held hers for a moment and she couldn’t help a small shiver. She dropped her gaze to the black stone eye on the chain at Darkwolf’s throat, and this time her skin chilled.

  Balor’s eye. The eye he had lost when Lugh shot it out.

  She wanted to touch it, but did not dare.

  Junga wet her lips with the tip of her tongue and her gaze returned to the warlock’s. From the Old One she had learned how Darkwolf had come by Balor’s eye. When he was on a trip to Ireland, the eye had washed upon the shore at Darkwolf’’s feet. Immediately the eye had opened, and the high priest had heard the voice of Balor in his mind, ordering him to do as he bid. The god now channeled himself through Darkwolf.

  And soon, the great god would come to rule once again with the help of the Fomorii.

  A knowing smile creased Darkwolf’s sensual lips and Junga almost shivered again. She scorned the warlock and feared him at the same time, and that bothered her deeply.

  Balor’s eye. The fear must be for the eye.

  “We need the thirteenth D’Anu witch.” Darkwolf’s powerful voice reverberated through her. “She is known as Silver Ashcroft.”

  “Why?” Junga swept her hand out to encompass the witches in the room. “Convince these pitiful ones to do your bidding.”

  Darkwolf smiled. “Oh, they will do my bidding. But these D’Anu? Unlike other witches their magic is far too strong to force them into serving Balor. They must choose to do so. My magic will see to that, but it will take some time.”

  He continued. “Silver Ashcroft will be much more susceptible to my persuasion. And together she and I will be able to quickly convert these white witches.”

  “Why do you think this Silver will be different from the rest of her Coven?”

  “She has strong gray magic and Balor believes she can easily be swayed to the black. He has felt her slipping. I have felt her slipping.” His dark gaze flickered to the other witches in the room before returning to stare down at Junga. “Just a little push, and it’s possible the gray witch can be turned.”

  Junga studied him for a long moment before giving a slow nod. “Then we shall get this gray witch named Silver.”

  7

  San Francisco

  * * *

  The four hours of sleep Silver had managed to get last night were four hours too few. After the ordeal with the demons and with summoning Hawk, her body was griping at her for not giving it enough rest.

  But she had to do this. And she had to do it now.

  It was early morning, barely after six o’clock, and Silver stood in the driveway behind Janis’s home, staring at the back door, which was open by several inches. When she’d driven up she had seen the other Coven members’ vehicles were no longer there. Every one of them.

  Where had their cars gone?

  Had it all been a nightmare?

  If only she were so lucky.

  One thing she knew was that the ever fastidious Janis Arrowsmith never left her back door open for any reason. Yet now it stood ajar.

  Silver pushed a wayward strand of hair from her face and tucked it behind her ear as she took a deep breath. The rest of her hair was held back in a Celtic knot clasp to keep it out of her face. She had dressed for the occasion, wearing snug black jeans, a black shirt, and low-heeled boots with her stilettos ready in their specially made sheaths inside the leather. Whatever was called for, she was prepared.

  Her gaze narrowed on the open doorway. Could any of the demons still be in Ja
nis’s home? Silver thought for a moment that maybe she should have called Jake. If that Hawk guy had hung around, he no doubt could have been of some use.

  “Knock it off, Silver.” She clenched and unclenched her hands. She was ready, her magic was ready. “You have to find it.” She desperately needed her scrying cauldron to attempt to see where the demons had taken her Coven, or what had been done with them.

  She thought about pulling a glamour, but that tended to work against humans, not the inhuman. Besides, she needed her strength—just in case.

  Silver walked away from her yellow VW Bug. Her steps carried her closer to the house and she didn’t pause until she reached the open door. Her heart beat faster as she placed her palm against the wood and pushed.

  The hinges whined as the door slowly swung open, revealing Janis’s rear foyer. The ornate table stood untouched beside the thick wooden door that would open to reveal stairs leading down into the Coven’s chambers.

  Her breath caught at the sight of claw marks etched into the foyer’s tile and the thick smudges of dirt on the usually pristine white. The stench of rotten fish hung heavy on the air, lingering like the smell of mayonnaise left in the jar too long.

  Her boots squeaked on the tile as she walked in and she stopped short.

  A gust of wind howled through the windows that had been broken by the Fomorri.

  The door slammed shut.

  Silver’s pounding heart leaped straight to her throat. Her hands were at her boots as she whirled to face the door. She held her daggers. Ready.

  She waited a full minute and heard nothing but more wind whistling through cracks around the window frames and an occasional gust rattling the door slightly against the jamb.

  Silence. She’d never been in Janis’s home when it had been so eerily quiet.

  Silver came up from her crouch and walked around the table. She approached the door leading to the ancient chamber below. It was closed tight.

  After shifting one of her daggers to her other hand, Silver turned the old brass knob, which gave a rusted sound with her movement, and the wood of the door scrubbed against the tile. She flinched and then again when the hinges gave a high-pitched squeal.

  It was dark, completely dark. And if anything was there, it had to have heard all the noise she’d just made.

  She waved her hand for an illumination spell. Immediately a blue glow spilled down the rock steps, but she still couldn’t see into the chamber. She glanced at the light switch and flipped it up, but nothing.

  The pounding of her heart reached her ears and sweat beaded on her upper lip. She took a careful step and managed to not make a sound. She chanced a look down and in the blue glow saw more claw marks etched into the stone. The memory of those demons chasing her and Cassia out of the house came back even stronger than before.

  The stench of their breath, their horrible roars, the sound of their claws scrabbling against stone seemed to surround her.

  Clenching her daggers, Silver took a deep breath. Step by step, she slowly made her way down. When she could see the chamber in the blue glow of her magic, her stomach turned.

  The sacred meeting hall was destroyed. A large hole desecrated the floor, the pentagram that had once graced the earth was gone.

  Debris littered the place from one end of the chamber to the other. The high priestess’s dais was flipped over, the candles and incense burners toppled onto their sides. Ceremonial tools—two chalices, a wand, an athame, a ritual sword, and the altar, along with other items—were scattered. Only the Ogham on the far wall remained unmarred, but it did not glitter like it normally did.

  Everything looked so eerie in the blue glow of her magic. The plant Janis had magically grown from seeds remained in the room, its leaves and tendrils completely still. Part of the plant had been chopped or clawed away, no doubt where it had been wrapped around the two demons Janis had caught.

  The magical ropes Silver and Rhiannon had used to bind the other demons had vanished the moment each of them had lost their focus—the fiber magic would dissipate when no longer tended. Even Silver’s gray fog wouldn’t last long without her attention.

  Every step Silver took brought her closer and closer to the destruction. Fear turned to anger. Anger at the Balorites for calling upon the Fomorii in the first place, and anger at the demons for what they had done.

  When she reached the floor, a clump of dirt crunched beneath her boot and she paused.

  Silence. A silence so deep she heard ringing in her ears.

  But no movement, and no movement was good.

  Silver carefully swept her gaze around the chamber. Where is that blessed cauldron? It had been near the dais when she had set it down to show the Coven the vision of the Balorites and Fomorii.

  She worked her way to the side of the room where the dais had been, stepping over the enormous vine and over items scattered on the floor. It wasn’t until she reached the far wall that she finally saw it, half buried beneath a pile of rubble. She slipped one dagger back into her boot, but held on to the other as she made her way to the cauldron, which glowed faintly in the blue light of her magic.

  When she finally grasped the metal and lifted it, thick mud rolled from its insides and spilled onto the ground at her feet. With a feeling of relief, Silver clutched the cauldron in one hand, her dagger in the other, and started to make her way back across the room when she heard a tiny scrabbling sound.

  A chill rolled down her back and she swallowed.

  The scrabbling sound again. But not coming from the hole in the center of the floor. No, it was coming from behind her.

  Silver set down the cauldron and turned toward the noise, the dagger raised in one hand, magic sizzling from the fingers of her other.

  Nothing.

  But then came the scrabbling sound again, louder this time, yet small.

  She glanced down at her feet. Janis’s familiar peeked its little head out from between a clump of dirt and rocks.

  Silver’s breath left her in a rush. “Mortimer.” She shook her head at the black and white mouse as she bent and offered him her palm. “You scared the crap out of me.”

  The familiar scampered onto her palm and raised himself on his hind legs, nose wiggling and whiskers twitching. With surprise, she felt his ancient magic flow through her, as if the mouse were her own familiar. He made small chittering noises and grew agitated, as if he were trying to tell her something.

  Silver frowned, but before she knew what he was doing, Mortimer scampered up her arm, over her snake bracelet, and to her shoulder where he continued to chitter, becoming more and more frantic.

  Hair prickled at Silver’s nape and the reek of rotten fish hit her like a slap.

  She whirled just in time to see a great yellow demon launching itself from the hole, claws extended to grab her.

  Pure instinct took over. Silver slashed at it with her dagger. The blade sliced through the tough hide along its arm at the same time she hurled a spellfire ball at the beast.

  Blood spurted from its arm. The demon shrieked as it swung its claws out at her. But the blast from the spellfire knocked it off balance and Silver ducked beneath its grasp.

  In a practiced movement she turned sideways, brought her foot up, and rammed her boot against the demon’s chest. It stumbled backward but its claws clamped onto Silver’s pant leg, pulling her feet out from under her.

  She cried out when her head struck a rock and light sparked behind her eyes. Mortimer squealed and fell off her shoulder.

  With a roar that shook the chamber, the demon rose, its grotesque teeth bared, its three eyes focused on her, its yellow hide tinged with blue from the magic illuminating the room.

  Just as it lunged for her, Silver flung spellfire at it with all her might, directing her gray witchcraft into that flaming blue ball. It slammed into the demon and coated its body like living fire. The beast shrieked as it toppled over, but still scrambled back to its feet.

  Even as she watched, the demon’s wound
s began to heal.

  She felt Mortimer scamper onto her shoulder and up to the crook of her neck as she got to her knees. Silver’s breathing came in harsh gasps and sweat coated her skin. She formed another spellfire as the demon charged her and slung it as hard as she could.

  The blazing ball struck the beast broadside, knocking it off its feet. It landed on a pile of rubble.

  Silver kept her hand held out, pushing, pushing, pushing against the Fomorii. She wanted to cause it pain, wanted to hurt it for what it and its kind had done to her Coven and her friends. The desire to kill it was so strong she could taste it.

  One push. It was only a demon. A hideous, murdering beast that belonged back in the Underworld. She could kill it, send it to whatever hell Fomorii went to when they died.

  “Yes,” a seductive voice whispered in her mind. “Kill it, Silver. It’s only a demon.”

  Of course. It wouldn’t be sorcery to kill such a horrible being. She would be serving the good. Yes, the good.

  Something nipped her ear so hard it shattered her concentration and connection with the dark. “Ow!” She slapped her hand to her ear and almost flattened the mouse.

  Mortimer. The familiar had called her back from—from what?

  Her own dark urges?

  Something shadowy, trying to possess her?

  Silver shook her head and felt blood trickling down her neck.

  This time when the demon charged, Silver felt the familiar’s magic join her own as ropes of blue power shot from her fingertips. The ropes wrapped around the demon, binding it tight from shoulders to horrid clawed feet.

  She was very tempted to bind the beast so tight it couldn’t breathe, but she heard the note of warning when Mortimer gave his low chitter.

  It was so like Janis to have a familiar that wouldn’t allow Silver to use any gray magic.