Page 24 of Samhain Savior

My head snapped up, the shock of hearing my name like a jolt of electricity straight to my heart.

“What?” I asked dumbly. “What did you say?”

Archer looked at me, his eyes narrowed as he glared at me over the folded paper he’d pulled out of the relic.

“The letter is addressed to someone named Delilah. Do you know her?”

I blinked, the words he’d spoken not quite processing. I opened my mouth to respond, but the explanation died on my tongue when a sudden noise from the hallway drew all our attention.

“Shit,” muttered Mal, moving silently to the door and staring out the narrow window, his head tilting first one way, then the other. “It’s the staff. Must be earlier thanwe thought. There’s three of them so far, all human. All headed this way.”

“Don’t hurt them!” I wheezed out, my throat feeling raw as all that had happened began to pile up in my brain.

Heidi. Phips. Demons. Hell hounds. Now the letter.

How much more would I be handed?

How much could I take?

“I wasn’t going to hurt them, witch,” Archer snarled at me, his brows drawn low. In the dim light of the morgue, he looked even more sinister than he had in the tunnel. Dark and menacing and alarmingly handsome.

It was unfair.

I swallowed thickly as those highly inappropriate thoughts rolled through me. The shadow collar moved, feeling like silk against my throat. Undulating like a living thing attuned to my moods, the sensation both foreign and intimate, a sensation that was entirely too distracting considering the situation. This time, rather than tighten threateningly, it seemed to caress me, the surprisingly warm feel of it barely a whisper against my skin. The collar continued to stroke me, feather-light touches that had shivers dancing along my spine and sent more than one inappropriate thought through my mind.

Would Archer’s touch feel as good as that of his shadow collar?

Did I really want to find out?

“Archer, we gotta go,” Corson stated. “We can deal with all this other shit once we get outta here.”

Pocketing the letter, Archer moved toward where Corson stood, ready to help him re-cover their friend with the sheet once more, but froze, a quiet curse tumbling from his lips as he stared down at the priest’s body.

“That symbol,” he whispered, drawing the sheet lower so that he could see more of the body. Taking a chance, I also crept forward, wanting to know what he had seen. “It can’t be.” Glancing over his shoulder, I could see what had drawn his attention, and I nearly gasped.

Sitting low on the priest’s hip was a small tattoo, standing out starkly against the pale flesh of the poor dead man before us. It was familiar, but in the way that a dream is familiar; foggy and half remembered.

Because anytime I’d asked about it, Heidi had shut my questions down decisively.

Looking at it now, I could see it was a circle, much as the symbol of theUmbra Fratrumhad been. But this time, instead of encasing a flame, the circle contained a tree, full branches reaching skyward, long roots snaking down, deep into the earth.

Deep roots. Strong branches.

The symbol of the Everwood line.

The symbol of my family.

“It’s been three hundred years,” Archer muttered quietly, almost to himself. “Why now? Whyus?” Lifting his head, Archer gave Corson a meaningful look. “Fucking Asmodeus. I’m going to kick his slang-talking ass.”

“Secrets upon secrets,” Vine whispered, his eyes taking on a far away look. “Deeper than the ninth circle.”

“Archer,now!” Mal called out urgently, his voice nearly a squawk as he moved, flitting across the room with agitation.

“Right.” Striding toward me, Archer swept his arm out, opening another of his strange portals. Then, with absolutely no warning, he thrust out his other hand, a shadow reaching toward me like a spear. I stepped back, attempting to dodge him, but it was no use. The new shadow latched on to my collar, a dark, hateful leash securing me tightly in Archer’s grasp. “Can’t have you slipping away, can I?” He gave a sharp tug, and like a puppet on a string, I followed him through.

The second trip was only slightly less dizzying as the first, feeling like an eternity and an instant at the same time. Stumbling out the other side, I found myself surrounded by trees, the unmistakable sound of a busy city bustling around me. The noise was shocking after the oppressivequiet of the morgue, the sudden cacophony sending my heart racing.

“Come,” Archer barked, his tone brisk as he continued to haul me along the concrete path and into a darkened alcove among the trees and shrubs.