Rowan came around the front of me, and I took his cock in my mouth, licking as far down his enormous shaft as I could reach. Rowan’s eyelids fluttered shut as my tongue slid down his length. Every thrust of Flynn’s drove him deeper into my throat. So full of two of my guys, so willing to give myself over completely to their bodies and their souls.
Flynn was the first to come, his cock driving deep as he buried his pain inside me. My moans vibrated around Rowan’scock, and it must’ve been more than he could take because he withdrew and shot his load across my shoulder, his body collapsing with a sigh.
We cleaned up in the bathroom, washing away our sweat and saliva with hot water and fancy soaps, then collapsed in bed together – our coven reduced to four broken people. My body pulsed with magic from the sharing of our bodies and hearts, ready to hook into the well of belief we’d stored in the artworks and unleash it on our enemies. Bring on the Slaugh.
Outside, lights flashed through the gate as the media settled in for the night. Flynn pulled up some of the news stories on his phone. “There’s a queue all the way down the high street to get into the gallery to view Ryan’s painting,” he said, showing us the picture.
“Brits will queue for anything,” Rowan grinned. I beamed at him. It was so nice to hear him telling a joke, even at a time like this.
Flynn frowned. “Watch it, mate. Unlike the opening of a Wimpy Bar, Ryan Raynard is worth queuing for.”
“I’d queue for curry,” Blake added.
“No, you wouldn’t,” I said. “You’d flirt with the woman behind the counter and she’d let you in ahead of everyone else.”
“True. That is what I’d do.”
We huddled together, watching the minutes tick down on Flynn’s phone screen. We didn’t speak much, just enjoyed the presence of each other. The absence of Arthur and Corbin passed, unsaid but felt, between us.
“Do you know what Corbin said to me, the night before the attack?” I rested my head on Rowan’s shoulder. “He was thinking about going to university. We talked about applying for Oxford together, and he would study useless languages and I’d study physics and we’d take the train back to Briarwood onweekends to see all of you. We joked that you could send us care packages of scones and Eccles cakes.”
“I would do that,” Rowan said, his long lashes fluttering over sad eyes.
“Corbin said he had to let go of his need to look after everyone. I remember his words exactly. ‘It might just be possible to be a Briarwood witch and have a life.’” I snorted. “I guess he’s proven us wrong—Holy shit, I’ve got it.”
“What?”
“It’s an ampulla!” The magic buzzed around my head. I turned to Blake and Rowan. “Do you remember in the dream, Corbin was wearing this lump of metal on a chain around his neck? I’ve seen it on him in all the dreams. He never used to wear anything like that, but it seemed familiar for some reason. I’ve just remembered where I’ve seen it before. He was telling me about it in the library when we talked about Oxford.”
“I remember it now,” Rowan whispered. His fingers dug into my thigh. “It was one of the objects on his shelf.”
“It’s called an ampulla. It’s a vessel for storing holy water from a pilgrimage. Corbin said this one included a cross of Saint Lazarus, the dude Jesus raised from the dead after four days.” My heart raced. “Afterfour days. That’s nearly how long Corbin’s been gone.”
“The spells Corbin was looking at in the Soho coven’s grimoire mentioned the gospels of John and something called the Mysteries of Lazarus,” Rowan said, his voice catching.
Holy holy holy shit.
I knew the story of Lazarus from my parents. It was one of their favourite tales about the miraculous abilities of Jesus, and it was important because it was the last miracle Jesus performed before the crucifixion. It foreshadowed his own rise from the dead.
Corbin could have figured out how to raise the dead back to life, the way Jesus raised Lazarus. He could have been telling the truth all this time.
I wrote it all down for you.
I tried to force down the hope welling up inside me, but once it had taken root in my heart, it sprouted wings and soared too high for me to rein in.
“Rowan, where are those post-it notes?” My words came out in a breathless gush. “We’ve got a day to figure out how to reverse whatever spell Corbin cast. It’s going to be tough if Arthur doesn’t wake up, but maybe we can convince Isadora to participate. She’s a fire witch, and?—”
“Uh, guys,” Flynn said, his body stiffening. “While I agree that hearing Einstein admit she might’ve been wrong about her dream is the most delightful sound, you might want to have a look out the window.”
I whirled around. Black clouds rolled across the previously clear sky, blocking out the moon and plunging the garden into darkness.
The walls groaned as the earth itself rumbled. I clung to Flynn as the movement jolted us off the bed.
The ride of the Slaugh had begun.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
TWENTY-THREE: MAEVE
