Page 30 of Possess Me at Midnight (Doomsday Brethren #4)

Chapter Twenty-Three

N o. I will not submit to Ice’s plan. The Doomsday Diary and my brother have to be protected, but I can fight. I cannot let the Anarki take him.

Grabbing the wand from my pack, I move Bram and the diary beneath the tunnel’s narrow stairs.

They provide little cover but hopefully enough for the moment.

It’s a big risk, but magickind cannot afford to do without another warrior any more than it can be without more Councilmen.

And even if Ice will never be mine, I’m not at all certain my heart won’t shatter if he’s no longer in this world.

Somehow, some way…I fear I’ve truly fallen in love with him.

Digging through the pack, I extract MacKinnett’s transcast mirror. The dead Councilman’s blacked-out symbol on the glass reminds me of the gravity of the situation. I can’t hesitate or falter.

Quickly, I press the symbol to reach Sterling MacTavish.

Another calculated risk. He’s long been skeptical of Bram’s assertions that Mathias has returned from exile and has again gathered the Anarki, but I pray that one of his nephews has shaken some sense into the elder, so he’s willing to send Lucan and Caden my way. It’s the only hope I have.

Stomping footsteps overhead remind me that time is short. Scuffling, running. A shout like a battle cry. Ice!

As my ears ring and my heartbeat roars, Sterling’s aging face comes into view. Gray hair and beard. Same piercing blue eyes his nephews inherited. His silvery brows lower when he sees me in MacKinnett’s mirror.

“Sabelle Rion?”

“I haven’t much time,” I whisper. “The Anarki attacked Thomas MacKinnett. He was burned to death in his cellar. All his human servants murdered, the women raped.”

Sterling sighs. “Not you, too. First your brother… Where is he?”

“With me at Thomas’s house. We’re hiding. Bram is unconscious, felled by some spell of Mathias’s a few days past. Sterling, you must listen to me. The Anarki have returned. Right now, Isdernus Rykard is fighting them alone?—”

“Won’t be the first time. When Mathias was alive, the nutter attacked their quarters by himself and killed nearly a hundred.”

I smother a gasp. Truly? I’ve heard rumors about Ice, but only a madman would raid Mathias’s compound alone. The Anarki fear me, and Mathias will want me brought to him alive . Ice’s words haunt me. Yes, they’ll bring him in alive…so they can torture him slowly and kill him with maximum pain.

Above me, I hear the slamming of doors and more shuffling, followed by grunts of pain, then shrieks of terror.

The sounds grow more distant. They’re moving away from the cellar, probably dragging Ice toward an exit.

I bite back tears that threaten to fall when I hear his battle roar above the din.

He isn’t going down without a fight. But what is one man against so many?

If Sterling’s story is true, he had the element of surprise in his favor before. Now, he has no one but me.

I have to get out of here.

“Sterling, if you don’t want to believe Mathias is back, believe that someone has killed Thomas MacKinnett. Look at your mirror.”

The old wizard peers at it, then freezes. A frown slowly overtakes his face. “His symbol. It’s black.”

“I saw his body with my own eyes—what was left of it. All the bodies, in fact. Even children. You can add Bram, Ice, and me to the list of the dead unless you send help here now.”

“H-help? I’m hardly in fighting shape. Magickind hasn’t needed anyone to enforce the rules really since?—”

“Mathias, right?”

The old wizard sighs. “Are you certain this isn’t much ado about nothing?”

I grit my teeth. “Locate Lucan and Caden. Ask them to come here. Right now. You’re our only hope. Please…”

“You younger ones are so easily excitable and so certain you’ve seen a ghost.” Another sigh. “All right then. I will find my nephews.”

“With all haste, please. Thank you.”

Closing the lid on the mirror, I tuck it into my pack and set the bag beside Bram.

With wand in hand, I creep up the stairs and listen.

Stomping, shuffling, shouts, some of pain—all above stairs.

The odds are against me. I might be captured.

Who am I kidding? It’s likely. But I have surprise on my side, and I refuse to leave Ice to his doom.

Bracing my palms on the stone block in the wall, I push with all my might. It won’t budge. Damn and blast!

I point my wand at the giant cube of marble, envisioning it wiggling free of the ice and falling to the floor below. The stone trembles in the wall, shudders, then falls still.

There’s only one reason my spell would fail: Ice sealed it off.

He poured his magic into that frozen water to make opening the little tunnel again impossible.

In ensuring that no one can follow me down the tunnel, he’s also made certain I can’t leave the relative safety of my hiding place to help him.

Tears choke me. That big, stupid, noble, idiotic, incredible man.

So willing to protect me at the cost of his own life.

Doesn’t he understand that I would and could have fought by his side?

Yes. And despite hating my brother, he cares enough for me to ensure my safety, even at the expense of his own.

I have to rescue him. I have to escape this tunnel and save him. Somehow.

Above me, shouts erupt. Something—someone?—bangs the walls. Repeatedly. More stampeding across the floor. A door slams.

“ No! ”

My blood freezes. That’s Ice. I’d know his voice anywhere; it’s imprinted on my heart.

It might be reckless, and my brother would highly disapprove…but I whisper a prayer that my brother and the diary will be safe and remain undetected here until either I return or Lucan and Caden arrive. Then I teleport to the back of the manor house and creep toward the kitchen door.

“Bloody fucking wankers.” Ice again. Thank goodness, he’s alive.

I peer through the glass in the door, barely peeking above the edge.

What I see has my heart jumping into my throat.

Blood runs in vivid crimson rivulets down his face.

One ribbon drips right between his eyes, soaking the thirsty sweater across his torso.

He holds his wand high and backs out of the room.

“Kill me, then. I won’t tell you where the diary is.”

The half-dozen wizards with their backs to me laugh.

One saunters forward, his swagger infuriating me. “I’m certain Mathias will change your mind.”

Ice raises his chin, full of challenge and sneer. “He can try.”

The wizards nearest the door charge toward Ice. My chest seizes up. He’s terribly outnumbered—and agitating the other wizards to act. Is he utterly mad?

With a slash of his wand, three of the pursuing wizards stop. Cease completely and simply fall. I’ve never been one for bloodshed, but I sincerely hope they are dead.

I cannot allow the remaining Anarki to reach Ice. So I ease the door open behind them, determined to keep the element of surprise on my side.

Ice’s eyes flash when he spots me. His swagger slips, and terror overtakes his face. “No!”

From the side door between the kitchen and the formal dining room, Zain pops out and raises his wand with malicious glee. “Thought you could kill another hundred of us again, did you? You’re slipping. You only got eighty this time.”

“Because the other twenty ran like cowards.”

“Your bloodshed stops now!” Zain roars.

I cast a spell at the three robed figures heading for Ice, hoping he’s able to disarm or dispatch Zain. Then we might be able to escape, be free. Instead, he points his wand at me with fear and apology all over his face. Love glows in his green eyes.

Then I feel my entire body being propelled out the open door as if someone grabbed me by the waist and tossed me back like I weigh nothing. Moments later, I land on the icy lawn, far from the manor house, flat on my bum.

Fortitude and hot anger juice me as I shoot to my feet, teleport back to the house, and burst into the kitchen.

The stillness of the room—of the house—assaults me.

I fear I’m too late. Instead of using his magic to kill the last few Anarki and free himself, he spent his time and attention getting me back to safety.

Those few moments of distraction allowed Zain to capture him.

No. It can’t be true. That can’t be right.

In a tearing panic, I search the house, every crevice, hoping against the odds that I’m mistaken.

In addition to the servants and MacKinnett’s body, I find dead Anarki everywhere.

Ice wreaked havoc on a scale that both amazes and repulses me.

But I can’t spare a moment to cheer for his success.

I prowl from room to room, trying to ignore the carnage, praying they’ve simply moved the fighting elsewhere.

Five minutes of howling silence and eerie stillness later, I can’t avoid the truth any longer. The Anarki have taken Ice. To almost certain death. And it’s my fault for distracting him when he should have been fighting.

The urge to fall to my knees and cry out my grief nearly overcomes me. I take a deep breath. Be strong. Magickind needs me. Bram, the Doomsday Diary, Ice… None of them can be healed, hidden, or rescued without me.

Forcing myself to sniff back tears and ignore my grieving heart, I make my way to the cellar. I have to collect my pack, my brother, and the diary, then get everything and everyone into the car so I can try to find Duke and the others. I can’t spare the time to rail or weep. Later.

And I’ll have to do it all alone since Lucan and Caden didn’t arrive in time to help.

Damn Sterling. The man likely hasn’t even contacted them yet.

I tried to impress the urgency of my request on him, but like so many of the elders, he refuses to hear.

I shake my head, holding in the towering urge to blame and scream and weep. None of that will do me a spot of good.

I’ll have to figure out how to save Ice alone.

As I bring my brother and the pack upstairs, I hear the front door crash open. The back door follows. Suddenly, I’m surrounded by Lucan, Caden, Duke, and Tynan.

“Where—” Duke falls silent as he looks around the room with widening eyes. “Ice did this?”

Hooded and robed Anarki bodies lie strewn all over the foyer.

At least fifty of them, some pinned permanently into the wall with the collection of swords that used to decorate the room.

The undead drip black blood in oily rivers down their warped faces.

Another stack of Anarki has been piled shoulder-high when Ice ripped the handrail off the wrought-iron staircase, then shoved them on the upthrust rails.

The black blood of the undead mixes with the red wizard blood, creating a murky pool that’s slowly spreading across the floor as the bodies continue to drain.

The rest of the undead met untimely ends at the business end of an ax.

The wizards look in permanent states of shock, stricken where they fell.

How on earth did Ice kill so many so quickly all by himself? It’s terrible and horrific, but I’m struck by the amazing skill such a feat must have taken. Marrok would be proud.

“Zain said Ice killed eighty of them.”

“I’ll be damned,” Caden murmurs. “The Marines would love him.”

Lucan shoots his younger brother a glare, then turns to me. “The Anarki have him now?”

“Yes. We have to get him back.” My voice trembles, and it takes all my strength to hold in my emotions.

Now isn’t the time for the Doomsday Brethren to ask questions about my attachment to Ice.

The clock is ticking, and every second could be the difference between his life and death.

I need to persuade Lucan and Caden that we can’t do without this fierce warrior. The cause needs him. So, I fear, do I.

“We will.” Lucan wraps a gentle arm around my shoulder, and it’s all I can do not to push him and his unwelcome touch away. “They won’t kill him, at least not right away. He has information they need too badly.”

Which means they’ll torture the big, brave wizard until he… My heart weeps for Ice.

“Bram’s condition is worse.” Duke comments like he’s cursing. “And the Doomsday Diary?”

“In my pack. What will we do about Ice? We can’t leave him at Mathias’s mercy!”

Duke and Lucan exchange a glance. I know that look. Already, they’re wondering what lies between me and Ice. And they clearly disapprove. I don’t care. They should be worried about saving a fellow warrior.

But they likely don’t see Ice as one of their own, being Deprived and therefore expendable. I want to scream at their shortsighted idiocy.

“We need a plan.” Duke approaches me, the self-appointed voice of reason.

Lucan nods. “Come with us back to my uncle’s and?—”

“I can’t.” I explain that Rhea, one of Mathias’s witches, placed a spell on the book that allows it to be tracked whenever its owner teleports. “I must travel by human means. Car, train, plane…”

Astonishment transforms all four warriors’ faces.

“That makes our trip vastly more difficult,” Duke muses.

Tynan snorts. “You mean fucked up.”

“It’s a miracle Ice alone managed to keep you from being captured.” Lucan squeezes my shoulder.

I wrench away. “Are you listening to me? We need a plan to save him now! I’ve got an auto outside. I’m going to drive?—”

“I’ll go with you,” Lucan says like he’s soothing a child. “You need protection. Uncle Sterling has a veritable fortress near Birmingham. We can travel there and regroup, devise a plan.”

What the devil? A fortress won’t help the rest of magickind until we save Ice. But a glance tells me Lucan is low on energy. I thrust the observation aside. Wondering if he needs my body is more than I can bear now.

“You teleport to your uncle’s and ready him to have the rest of us invade his home. I hate to impose, but?—”

“No. He must, and he’ll have to understand. There’s safety in numbers.” Lucan turns to his brother. “Caden?”

The youngest wizard sends me a curious stare, then nods. “I’ll go with you.”

Tynan raises a hand to lift Bram from the ground. “The car out front?”

“Yes.” I race for the door, then stop. One more thing, in case Sterling MacTavish is still reluctant to believe Mathias and the Anarki are back. I extract MacKinnett’s mirror from my pack, flip it open and choose Sterling’s crest again.

“You again?” he grumbles. “I sent my nephews. They’ve just returned and told me they found you. I’ve agreed to open up my home, though this is nonsense, I’m sure and?—”

I turn the mirror to display the carnage Ice left in his wake—blood-soaked Anarki robes, bodies skewered and hacked up everywhere, the unmistakable aftermath of a massacre. The last sounds I hear from Sterling are a gasp and something that sounds suspiciously like retching.

“If you think this is still nonsense, someone should bury you deep in Bedlam.” I snap the mirror shut and shove it into my pack, my hands shaking with rage and grief. Then I turn to Duke. “Let’s go.”